The Great Escape
by Medea Smyke
Summary: Post-Rebellion. Katniss needs a break from the underground metropolis of D13. Peeta's plotting something. Madge provides an unlikely solution. Poor Gale's along for the ride. K/P and M/G - Rated T for fanservice! Severely AU.
1. Chapter 1

AN: For **Ceylon205**, who asked for more Peeta/Katniss and Madge/Gale love. I am happy to oblige. Thanks for beta-ing!

Note: This story is a bit of fluff written for fun; please read it as such. I am in the middle of editing this story again. Thanks for your patience!

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**The Great Escape **

Chapter One

_The Underground, Former District 13_

_Year 78, Capitol Reckoning. _

_Madge's POV

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_

The canteen stands pretty empty tonight. And quiet. That's okay with me. Waitressing is not my idea of a good time, what with the aching feet and finicky eaters. Lousy tips. But I need the work if I'm going to pay for private quarters instead of the provided dormitory where most of the wards and people without families live. I tried that out for a couple of months, at first. But the large, crowded rooms filled with other young women sleeping, talking, shuffling around at all hours made me want to jump in front of a gun. So Haymitch helped me find a job, after I bullied him a little. Mentioned my aunt. Dropped the word _duty_.

He became my unofficial guardian when I reached the Underground with the other District 12 refugees. There wasn't really anyone else. I don't have any living relatives. The closest tie I have with anyone is Haymitch, because of my aunt. And he's not entirely reliable, but it's better than being a ward.

When the rebellion was in full swing, I worked in the infirmary. But now that we're on the brink of a treaty with the flagging Jabberjay forces, they don't need as much help from the inexperienced, like me. So, here I am at the Priest Hole, one part ritz, two parts dive, able to scrape enough together for my own quarters on Level 9, and save a little extra for something special: Aviation lessons – my ticket out of this underground metropolis I've called home for the last three years.

Tonight's shift is nearly over. I'm clearing off the last of the battered tables and booths of their peanut shells and crumbs, busing dirty dishes and napkins back to the kitchen just around the corner, when I see a young man wearing a black and white Mockingjay uniform I hadn't noticed before sitting alone at the bar. He's nursing something dark, while Bartel, the bald, gargantuan bartender loafs at the other end of the counter, wiping it down with a striped rag.

I smile to myself and walk over. "You're not usually here by yourself," I say, ditching the heavy tray on a chipped, wooden table with a mermaid carved into it by some amateur.

Peeta looks up from his drink, blond hair falling into his eyes. "Hey, Madge."

"Hey yourself." I slide onto a stool next to him. "What've you got there?"

"I don't know." He lifts the glass to his nose and sniffs the amber liquid, then hands it to me. "Bartel just took a look at me and handed it over."

"You're a trusting one." I take a curious sip. "Uck. Bourbon. You okay?"

"Just thinking." He shrugs, and tries to choke down a sip of his drink. It makes his face contort.

I chuckle. "Thinking about what?"

He runs his finger around the rim of the tumbler, weighing his words. "The usual."

"Katniss?"

A thin, self-deprecating smile barely creases his face. "Yeah, I guess."

Can I read him, or what? Not that it's hard. Peeta's always made his devotion to his girlfriend very plain. "Care to talk about it?"

Peeta quirks an eyebrow, then points at my apron. "You got the time?"

"I'm off in a few minutes." I gesture over my shoulder. "Let me get rid of that tray and I'll be right back."

"Okay," he says.

Bartel drops the rag and gives me a curious glance when I get up and step around the corner of the bar, but I wave him away. He shrugs his bulky shoulders, nearly tearing the silk vest he's wearing, and goes back to polishing. I grab a new glass and some ice, pump a shot of syrup, then fill it from one of the taps.

"Here you go," I say, sliding it to Peeta. "On the house."

Peeta blinks at the drink. "What is it?"

"Phosphate. Strongest ingredient is caffeine. Tastes better, too. A real, old-time drink." I grin. "We usually make it for kids when they come in with grownups."

"Kids, huh? Ouch." I throw a cherry in for garnish and Peeta smiles for real, making the skin around his blue eyes crinkle. "Thanks."

"Sure." I return the smile before I leave the bar. "Be back in a bit."

Once I step through the swinging door in the back, I yank at the strings holding the apron on, and throw it on a hook. My black dress and leggings need straightening, and a quick dusting off of crumbs that accumulated there. Then I bid goodnight to Sykes, the manager when I'm done cashing in my tips. He waves vaguely in my direction with his head bent over a stack of invoices piled on a small, creaky table.

"See you tomorrow, Prisca," I call to the cook, her frizzy white hair just visible through the window into the kitchen.

"Goodnight, honey."

Now, time to find Peeta. He's still on the stool, but this time he's struck up a conversation with Bartel. The fizzy drink is half-gone and he's cracking open a peanut shell from a basket that Bartel put up.

"…so I guess that's why I never have to shave." He stops, throws a peanut in his mouth and chews.

Bartel purses his lips, nodding at whatever the reason is behind Peeta's unusual lack of grooming. The two make an interesting picture. Bartel, with his bulky body, and shiny pate. Scars on his cheeks. Large, meaty lips. Except for the wax on his head and the quality of his clothes, Bartel looks more like a moonshine-horking goon than a top shelf cocktail connoisseur.

Peeta, on the other hand, looks like the kind of guy that likes to drink cherry soda. He may not be built like Bartel, but his shoulders are broad, and his shirt doesn't hide the definition in his arms and torso. Not a bad looking guy, although my tastes tend to fall in the tall, dark, and handsome category. When his hair falls into his blue eyes, he still looks sixteen. And Peeta's smile is as sweet as ever. Maybe a little rarer, and his laughter is harder to come by, but he's still good. Despite everything.

"You ready, or do you want to find out what brand of wax Bartel uses?" I ask, leaning against the polished wood counter. Bartel gives a delicate, indignant sniff through his pug nose.

"Right. Thanks for the peanuts," Peeta says to the bartender, sliding off the stool.

"See you tomorrow night," I say, and Bartel makes a shooing gesture with his hand.

We walk for a little ways along the sterile, white corridors without a particular destination in mind. My eyes follow the irritating red line painted at hip level. I guess it's a warning that zoning out while staring at the white walls will lead to collisions. Thank you, Underground. At least they bothered constructing the smooth façade that keeps this place from looking like the cavern that it is and installed full spectrum lighting fixtures.

The levels of the Underground were constructed to mirror Panem, with thirteen floors that in some way reflect the corresponding district. Not all of them do, serving some other function. Right now we're on the fourth floor of the Underground. Not a lot of fishing or boating going on here. Apparently, District Four contributed its coastal drinking culture to the climate of this level, which has more taprooms and licenses than all the other floors put together. In fact, we're passing by the Broken Oar, named after its historic aboveground counterpart, with a chipped sign reading, "A sunny spot for shady people." Only, somebody took exception to the sunny bit, and hacked away at it with a knife.

Folks in the Underground don't have a sense of humor about things like that.

But enough griping.

"So, what's on your mind?" I finally ask Peeta.

He shrugs. "I'm sort of at my wit's end with Katniss. I guess I thought that since we're only weeks away from signing the peace treaty, that life would be better for her and me. That she wouldn't be so distracted, and I don't know, happier?"

"Isn't she?" I ask. I haven't really had a chance to see her yet.

"For a little while," he says. A worry line forms between his eyebrows. "She isn't under so much pressure. But the last month, it's like she's in a coma or something. She zones out for a couple of minutes, at first. Yesterday I spent an hour talking to myself while she gaped at the wall."

"Really?" Katniss can be sullen when she's unhappy – okay, even when she is happy (it's a Seam thing)– but it's not like her to check out. The only other time I remember her like that, she found out that the Capitol held Peeta in its clutches. "Maybe you should rethink your use of stimuli."

Peeta splutters.

I blush. "That's not what I meant."

"It's not just her, either," Peeta continues, watching me from the corner of his eyes. "Gale's doing it, too, since he completed his tour."

My steps falter, but just for a second. I don't think Peeta noticed. I think.

Ugh. Gale Hawthorne. Talk about an infatuation gone sour. I've barely seen him in the three years that we've lived in the Underground after our home district burned to ashes. We'd become friends, I thought, after he saved me from burning to death. But we've barely spoken to one another since he found out Katniss was alive, and the war started in earnest. Once in a while he's home when I'm visiting Hazelle – the surviving D12 crowd tends to stick together – and he looks at me, and I think he's about to say something. But then this face turns to stone. He usually leaves after that point.

What could possibly come of that? I used to hope…I don't know what I hoped. After three years, you wouldn't think that I'd still be rehashing this in my mind. There must be something wrong with me. A chemical imbalance or whatever. A lack of UV rays? Maybe I need fresh air for fresh thinking?

"Um, Madge?" I snap out of it, realizing that Peeta has been talking to me. "Please not you, too."

I grin sheepishly. "Sorry. I'm back. How long have they been like this?" I ask.

"Like I said, about a month," he replies.

"Hmm." I purse my lips. "And it's getting worse?"

"I'll say," he groans. "I don't know what to do, she just sits there sometimes with no expression on her face. I try talking, but nothing works. Not even Prim can break through to her, and I don't have to tell you how bad it is if she can't get a response out of Katniss."

I nod. "Do you have an idea as to why it is?"

Peeta scratches his head. "The only thing I can think of is that they've been in the Underground longer than usual. I don't think Katniss and I have spent more than two, maybe three weeks down here at a time in the last three years."

I stop walking, and can't quite hide the sarcasm in my voice. "So…she's got a bad case of cabin fever?"

"Maybe," Peeta says, lifting his hands uncertainly. "Makes sense. She's cut out for the woods and open air. But if that's it, then I don't know what to do about it."

"Could you take Katniss to Level 11?" I ask.

"Yeah, get Katniss to hunker down for a picnic in an artificial cornfield." Peeta snorts. "I don't know, Madge. All she has to do is look up and see the cavern ceiling to kill the mood. If the irrigation system doesn't do that first."

I run a hand through my hair impatiently. "I guess."

We walk in silence for a while longer until we eventually reach the end of the Level 4. Instead of walking in a loop again, Peeta punches the button for the lift and we wait. When the door slides open, we step in and I hit the key for Level 9, one of the floors for civilian quarters.

"You headed home?" I ask.

"No," he replies. "I'll walk you back. Then I need to bug Haymitch. Maybe he'll have a suggestion."

I choke down a snort. "I'm sure he'll have loads of suggestions. But will they be useful?"

Peeta smiles. "Probably not. But I figure they gave him an office on Level 1 for a reason."

I bite my lip. _Level 1 – of course! _

Peeta jumps a little when I grab his arm. "Wait. I…have a plan. It's kind of illegal, and would require some creative borrowing –"

He balks. "You mean theft?"

"Whatever." I wave my hand dismissively. "But I think I can make it work. Here's the deal…"

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To be continued...

_Thanks for reading_


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Besides the obvious non-ownidge of The Hunger Games…I'm also not a sci-fi writer. Be gentle.

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**Chapter Two**

_Madge's POV

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_

"A nearly elegant land, Miss Undersee. Much better than last time."

"Thanks, Quintus," I say, giving him a thin smile. _Nearly _elegant isn't nearly as elegant as just plain elegant, or very elegant, or supremely elegant. Ugh. If only I'd stop losing my nerve during that last procedure! Last time I tried to park the hovercraft corvette into the decorative glass wall that separates Hangar 1 from the control "tower" and offices for Very Important People. The fact that my instructor scheduled today's lesson for Hanger 13, with not one decorative window to speak of, has been duly noted by this pupil.

I punch the latchkey for the pilot's hatch, turning sideways to slide out of the seat. Quintus does the same on the passenger side, then joins me below the wing, where I collect my personal items from the side cargo bin. People are milling around between cargo pads, supply handlers shuttling by on land barges loaded with supplies. I like the dull roar of the hangars, and the way it echoes off the high ceiling. This is the closest thing to wide-open space in the Underground. Except maybe Level 11.

"Do you still think I'll be ready to pilot this beast on my own after another twenty hours' instruction?" I ask.

Quintus folds his arms, cocking his head to the side while he considers my question. He has a habit of playing with his lip ring with his tongue when he's thinking. It's a little distracting, though maybe not as distracting as when he's pulling at the one in his nose. But I'm learning to ignore it, which is about as major a feat as successfully landing a hovercraft. Everything about Quintus screams to be noticed, from the frosty green tips of his hair that radiate around his head like a corona to the piercings adorning his face. And his face isn't something to overlook either. High cheekbones. Clean skin. A little stubble. He doesn't look a day over twenty-five. I heard he's twenty-eight.

Not that I've been asking.

But yes, overall, Quintus is a good example of eye candy. One of those tall, lean types that gets along with just about everyone. Although, unlike Peeta Mellark, who's unconsciously friendly, Quintus's efforts are a little more obvious. But he's a patient instructor and an apt pilot in his own right, so I tend to look forward to flight lessons.

"Margaret?" He says my name with that funny Capitol accent. It takes me a moment to register that he's said my name, since only people who read official documents, permission forms for example, ever call me that.

"Wha…"

"Sorry, you were starting to look a little dazed there." He winks. "I was just saying that I think you'll be ready before the remaining hours are up. In fact, if you took the flight test today you'd nearly pass."

"On the level?" I gasp.

"You're great once you're up in the air."

I grimace, hearing the qualification in his voice. "But?"

"You could brush up on your take off and landing technique," he says gently, giving my arm a squeeze.

"Oh." I expel an exasperated breath. "Only the two most important parts of flying."

Quintus gives me a bright grin. "Don't worry. You showed remarkable improvement today." He leans in, and lowers his voice. "You know, I'm usually pretty busy, but if it would help your confidence level, I can take you flying outside of class."

"You'd do that?" I gape. "Really?"

He smiles at me gravely. "Mind, I'll have to see what I can work in. But sure, why not? How about we try for—" But before he can give me a tentative date, a hand appears from behind, tapping on the instructor's shoulder. Quintus turns. "Can I help you?" he asks coolly.

A shock of golden hair and a pale forehead appear just above Quintus's shoulder. "I'm looking for Madge Undersee, could you – oh, there she is, thanks." Peeta sidesteps Quintus and skillfully maneuvers himself between us, slouching lazily against the side of the hovercraft. It takes Quintus a moment to realize what's happened.

I stifle a giggle at the instructor's bemused expression. "Hi, Peeta."

Peeta winks, "Madge."

It's quiet for a moment, and it feels awkward all of a sudden. "Um, fancy seeing you."

"Is this a bad time?" he asks casually, glancing alternately between Quintus and me.

"We're done for the day," I tell Peeta, then turn to Quintus. "Maybe you can let me know later when a time will work for you? That would really help me a lot."

"Of course," he says with a slight frown. "Until next time, Miss Undersee."

"Bye, Quintus."

"See you around," Peeta calls as the pilot retreats. His farewell goes unacknowledged. "Cheerful guy."

I frown, with my hands on my hips. "I wonder what got into him. Quintus is always in a good mood."

Peeta grins. "I'll bet." He turns to take a look at the corvette and whistles. "So, you can fly this thing?"

"Sure." I shrug. "Flying's easy. It's just getting up in the air that can be a bit tricky."

"How about coming down?" he asks.

"That's easy, too, so long as you aren't picky about the state you're in once we have."

"Ah." Peeta purses his lips.

"Don't worry," I say, giving him a playful punch on arm. "We'll be using Haymitch's hovercraft. She's a breeze to operate." If Haymitch has left her in tip top condition, that is.

There's a pregnant pause while Peeta studies my face. "So it's really a go?"

"Sure. If I got the timetables correct, in a week from today Hanger 1 will be empty by twenty hundred hours. Then we have half an hour before the maintenance crew comes. They're real sticklers about having the place to themselves." I sling my bag over my shoulder and lower the bin door. "I'll stash the agreed-upon supplies in Old Ethel. The aircraft clearance papers need a signature and approval still, but I can forge that easily. As long as it looks like a drunk did it….so, there's only your side of the plan left to worry about, which is getting Katniss there. "

"Won't be a problem." Peeta grins. "And you don't mind?"

"What's to mind?" I say with a dismissive flick of the wrist. "It'll just be you and Katniss and me out in the wild yonder."

Peeta slips a finger inside his collar and tugs a little. "Well, that's what I was worried about…"

I give him a cheeky grin. "Don't worry. I'll bring a book."

…

_Peeta's POV – One Week Later_

Timing the cheese rolls just right, Katniss should be able to smell them baking when she walks in the door. I could use that food generator thing next to the miniature oven, but baking is a little gesture that helps make the windowless quarters; a single room with a bed, sofa, kitchenette, and a table bolted into the wall, feel like home rather than a cell in some underground trackerjacker nest. And well, computer food doesn't really beat Mellark pastries. And it's all about atmosphere. When we get a chance to be alone I want her with _me_, not thinking about the rebellion or staring blankly at the wall.

Katniss should be here soon, so I kick the dirty clothes under the bed and straightened the covers, tucking them in _tightly_. Good thing the couch is comfortable. _Not that Mrs. Everdeen lets it get too cozy at my place_, I mentally mutter. Katniss isn't the only one who needs a break from the restrictions of the Underground. I respect Mrs. Everdeen, but well, she's not a guy. Maybe she doesn't understand.

Maybe she does, and therein lies the problem?

I punch some shape into the little throw pillows that Prim gave me. They've been wedged into the seat cushions since the last time Katniss and I were here together. I just finished switching on the rest of the lights when Katniss slips silently through the automatic door. She hates the darkness except when she sleeps, and sometimes, even then.

"Hey," she murmurs, standing just inside the doorway.

"Hey," I reply.

Katniss drops her bag and sniffs the air. Then she arches an eyebrow and asks, "Reheated computer bread?"

"Ingrate," I pretend to grouse while taking in her appearance. Black braid. Black uniform. Black circles under her eyes. And a bleak expression on her face. "Meeting with Haymitch?" I ask.

She grimaces. "How can you tell?"

"You look like you've gone through a meat grinder whenever you see him." I hold out my arms for her and she slips into them like it's second nature. I feel her hands bunch in the material on the back of my shirt, clinging as tightly as she can. Her hair smells like soap and warmth. I press my lips into it, enjoying the feeling of her cheek resting against my chest. I'm glad the days of hesitation are over. Right after the Mockingjay forces rescued me from the Capitol, Katniss kept me at arm's length. Not because of something either of us had done, but I think she was afraid. I guess I was, too. Afraid to hope that we could actually be together. Afraid that maybe the Capitol had ruined us, made us incapable of being human – caring for people, loving each other. Waiting for the next big thing to separate us.

But our reticence didn't last forever. Now we just don't have privacy! Scratch that. We never had privacy. But sometimes I feel it was easier for Katniss and me when the audience stayed on the other side of the camera lens.

"You okay?" I whisper in her ear when she's been quiet for a few minutes.

"Yeah," she mumbles into my shirt. "Tired is all. A little restless."

"Do you want to go out?" I already know that answer.

Katniss shakes her head and mumbles, "Everything looks the same down here." I feel her shoulders droop in defeat. "What's the use? Just makes it worse."

"I know," I murmur against her hair. This is why we need out. Katniss shouldn't look so defeated when we're so near to victory. It doesn't make sense. And if nobody else has the brains to see that she needs a break, then it's all up to me. So I say, "Actually, though, there was something I wanted to show you."

Katniss lifts her head up from my chest, curiosity sharpening her features. "What is it?"

I scratch my head, thinking about how to word this. "Remember how you wanted to help Gale out…"

Katniss's eyes narrow. "You have another plan? I really don't think the closet idea was very good."

From a guy's point of view, the closet idea is brilliant. But this is a different stroke of genius that works just as well. So I say, "Better." I can't help grinning. "_Madge_ has as plan."

"You told her about Gale?" Katniss's voice rises an octave as she looks at me through wide, grey eyes.

"Not exactly," I say with my hands up. "I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone, except I couldn't think of anything. So, with a little trickery on my part, I might have mentioned that you've been having a hard time lately…"

Katniss groans. "What have you done?"

I shrug. "Mmm, I dunno. It's a surprise."

"A surprise?" she intones.

"Yep," I say with a grin. Katniss doesn't gush or leap for joy like other girls do when someone surprises them. Her eyes narrow suspiciously, like I've set a bear trap for her somewhere. Although, that's not too far out of line for someone with her experience.

"What is it?" she asks in a low, hesitant voice.

"I'm not telling. You'll have to see," I tease, gently tugging her braid. It's quiet for a pregnant moment. "Katniss?"

"Yesss, Peeta?"

I purse my lips for a moment. "About Madge. Whatever happened to the meek girl from District 12? I don't know if you've noticed, but she's kind of scary."

"Madge scary?" Katniss scoffs. "Please, Peeta. She plays the piano. That's about as fierce as cake decorating."

"Ouch," I mutter. "No, just wait and see. Scary."

Katniss scowls. "When do I get to find out?"

I take a look at the impressive rebel watch on my wrist. Amidst the jumble of numbers that I don't care about, such as the temperature aboveground, is the time. "Oh, in an hour." Then I quip, "Let's just say that it works out in my favor, as well as Gale's. Sorry, sweetheart, you'll have to share."

Katniss's eyebrows contract, and she harrumphs before stepping away from me. "Share, he says. Got any food around here?"

I laugh as her pragmatic mind moves instantly to other matters.

"What?" She sniffs. "If I have to wait, you might as well feed me."

* * *

TBC

_Thanks for reading!_

_Shameless plug: The wonderful Apricot Teacup has done it again!_** See Quintus here: **http://apricotteacup(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/Quintus-161087407


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Madge's POV

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_

The last of the ground crew exits Hangar 1. I quietly leave the shadowy alcove I've tucked myself into and wend my way around neatly stacked bins and crates until I reach Ethel. She's an older model, a bit heavy-set and tarnished. Hovercrafts today are made with a single carbon-fiber frame. But Ethel's an aluminum grandmother. I wish we had an Eagle, with its light frame, high speeds and cloaking device. But what Ethel lacks in gadgets, she makes up for in gumption and character. And, well, if I ding her on the hanger roof, well…who'll guess? She's tiny too, that's for sure. Stealthy. But, there's enough room for the three of us, with seats for a pilot, copilot, and two passengers in the cramped fuselage they'll have to share with the raised engine.

Unslinging the bag of food that couldn't be stored ahead of time, I rest it on the lined tarmac. I look over my shoulder once or twice, then unlatch the storage compartment and stash the goods. Then I close it again and make doubly sure it's secure. If Peeta and Katniss want to bring anything else, it'll have to fit under their seats.

After getting a good look under Ethel's skirt, I hop into the cockpit and perform a quick check there. A bottle full of something clear lies on the floor. It's not hard to see that this is not a water bottle. Good thing Haymitch doesn't actually fly this thing himself. Ugh. I pick it up and stash it somewhere out of sight.

And where's my rendezvous team, anyway?

I jump down quietly and skirt around the nose of the hovercraft when I hear uneven footsteps. Katniss moves silently, but I can hear the limp in Peeta's gait, even if I can't see him. "Hey, you two are just in time—oh!" I gasp. "_You_…"

Ominous eyebrows. Familiar, ominous eyebrows less than an arm's length away. Gale glowering at me. Glowering at Peeta and Katniss.

"What is this all about, Mellark?" Gale barks just as I cry, "He's not part of the plan!"

Katniss looks abashed and confused, but Peeta calmly says, "Slight change of plans, Madge. We couldn't leave him behind."

A slight change? This is a huge, freaking change that I am not mentally prepared for. But I clamp down on my tongue because this is so not the time to get into an argument about Peeta's motives and subsequent secrecy. We're seriously running out of time before the maintenance crew shows up to bust us.

Katniss steps around Gale. "Is that a…"

I plaster a grin to my face. "An official Underground hovercraft corvette? Yeah. Retired Peregrine-61. You can call her Ethel." I don't have to fain my affection as a I run a hand over her battle scars. "A bit dented, but she flies like a beaut."

"Dented?" Gale sneers. "It looks like someone tried to clip her wings."

"Don't be silly," I huff as I flip the latch. The hatch lifts with a wheezy hiss. "Well, don't just stand there!"

"Wait. What's going on here?" Gale asks uneasily, as I step away from the hatch and gesture for them to get in.

"What does it look like?" Peeta says helpfully. "We're breaking out of the joint."

"That's the surprise?" Katniss asks Peeta. She gapes at him like she still hasn't figured him out yet, after all this time.

"Do any of you even know how to fly this thing? You two don't," Gale points out. The fabric of his shirt stretches across his shoulders as he crosses his arms over his chest. He rounds on me. "And you're just a waitress for pity's sake."

_Just a waitress?_ Ugh, of all the pigheaded… I round on Katniss. "Yes, this is the surprise," I snap, even though she isn't the one I'm frustrated with. "Peeta and I cooked up a way to get you out of the Underground. As for your question, Mr. Hawthorne," I jab him none-too-gently in the arm with my finger, "I am more than a _waitress_ and I can fly this beast with my eyes shut." Autopilot. Hello.

I glare at the three of them, daring for more comments or insults or changes to the plan. Peeta gives me a lopsided grin and jumps in without hesitation, pulling Katniss into the fuselage seat with him. Gale just balks at the open hatch.

"Afraid, Hawthorne?" Peeta challenges.

"It's illegal to fly one of these without a license," Gale replies, sounding every inch the honorably discharged sergeant that he is. Then he adds, sounding more like the boy from District 12, "Besides, I have more limbs to lose than you, dough boy."

"Shut up and get in before I run you over," I gripe, all but pushing him up into the remaining seat at the helm. When we land, Peeta and I will have words. Short ones, with lots of punch.

"I'll fly," Gale says, resisting my effort to budge him.

I snort. "Not a chance."

"_Madge_."

"_Gale_," I mimic his plaintive tone. "I know that you flew war birds for the rebellion, but I am not about to hand over Haymitch's beloved Ethel to your capable hands."

"Why not?" he cries, completely unable to fathom why I'd reject his _reasonable_ _offer_.

"Well, because historically speaking, the owner doesn't like you, and you don't like the owner. And since this is already a pretty bad situation should he find out, I think it's better that I am the one handling the corvette." I give him the innocent smile I've been practicing for Haymitch when this shindig is over.

Gale shudders, then grabs the handle within the doorframe. "All right, everybody out of the hovercraft. As the responsible adult…"

"We're over eighteen," Peeta replies drily. "By a good two years."

"Come on, Gale. It's the same thing as sneaking under the fence in the old days," says Katniss. There's a wistful note in her voice and for a fleeting moment I see it mirrored in Gale's grey eyes before he climbs into the copilot seat. But then his face makes it clear that he's acting under extreme duress. Yeah, well, you're not the only one, buddy. This is why plans should be made and _stuck to!_

"If it makes you feel better," I chime in snidely, "we can ask Quintus to fly us in his Besra-77. Either way, we're getting you out of the Underground."

Gale glares at me from the seat. "Who's Quintus?"

Peeta leans forward in his seat. "That mildly attractive pilot with the green-tipped hair and facial piercings; former Capitol citizen, now entertaining hopes of liberty and a brighter future for his children as yet to be born."

Some sort of nonverbal man-code passes between them. "Ugh. Why would you ask some Capitol tool to break a hovercraft out of the Underground?" Gale asks accusingly.

I smile with a touch of venom. Who is Gale Hawthorne to question what I do? "He's the guy who showed me how to operate this thing."

Gale looks mildly suspicious. "Why would he do a thing like that?"

I shrug. "He was the available instructor when I registered for my permit."

"I'll bet he was."

"Stop being petty. I'm flying because I have connections if we get caught—crap. Speak of the devil." I slam the hatch shut on Gale's inquisitive face, turning to see Quintus striding toward me. He looks pleasantly surprised.

Good thing the windows are tinted.

"Hello, Margaret," he calls, a good few yards away still.

I give him a nod. "Quintus."

"What are you loitering around for?" he asks curiously.

I lean casually against Ethel. "Oh, Haymitch asked me to come up and give the old girl a once over. He wants to take her out soon, so I told him I'd check her. _If_ he'd promise to take me with him, of course." I practice that smile again.

Quintus stops just shy of stepping on my toes. His hand creeps up the side of the hovercraft until it's level with my shoulder. He leans on it, tucking one foot behind the other. "How dutiful of you."

I shrug. "Yeah, well, it's nice to get aboveground sometimes. Uh. So, what are you doing here?" I drop my voice into a presumptuously friendly tone. "Don't tell me they never let you go home?"

Quintus flourishes a hand. "Oh, my quarters are too dull for me. I hate being alone." He throws me a winning grin. "Don't you?"

"Um. I'm a homebody," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

His elbow bends so his hip connects with the aluminum plating, bringing him even closer to me. "Fascinating." It is? My nose wrinkles with disbelief, and he laughs. "I'm always finding out something new about you. What is it your friend called you last week? Madge?"

I nod. "That's right…uh…."

"Well, Madge, do you need any assistance? I do know an awful lot about these birds, of course. I could help you inspect the engine. In a small craft like this, it's usually in the fuselage…"

No kidding, professor. Flight lesson #1: Guts and Airframe. But thanks for the offer. I need an excuse to get rid of him. "Oh, uh, Haymitch is very particular about who he lets into old Ethel. Um…" Yep. I still suck at lying.

"Is he? Well, you know him better than I do." Still, Quintus doesn't budge. "Anyway, I've been thinking." He slicks his tongue over his bottom lip, idly playing with the steel ring, while he leans in closer. I could easily brush my nose against his, if I were so inclined. "Maybe we should try for something off site for once? How about a drink, on me? We can discuss when to fly next."

"Hmm, that's an interesting…proposition…Quintus." His subject leaps make my head spin, and I need to think before I agree to something that I'll regret. I feel caught in a vice between Quintus's slight frown and the daggers I can feel coming from the other side of the hatch. I need to get rid of Quintus pronto, and get the sick puppies out into the open air. Screw thinking. I need a short cut. "Actually, that sounds great. Tonight won't really work for me. How about tomorrow? When would be a good time for you?" Smile. Bat lashes. Good.

Quintus actually blinks for a moment before he says, "My last lesson ends at seven. I know this great place called the Broken Oar…"

"_A_ _sunny spot for shady people_. Great. It's a date." I nearly give him a thumbs up – cool it, Madge. Overkill.

Then I bite my lip as an afterthought creeps through my mind. "Oh, and we should probably not mention this to anyone seeing as how you're still my instructor. People are weird about stuff like that."

Quintus smiles in a leering sort of way that good-looking guys can get away with. "My lips are sealed."

Isn't that the name of a book? Maybe. We didn't actually have books in D12. Maybe it's a song?

And then he smirks. "Although, maybe they need some encouragement to stay that way."

Some kind of suggestion hangs in the air, but I'm not sure what it is. "Like a pinky swear?"

The thought, _he meant a kiss, you dope_, circulates through my mind a few paralyzing moments after his lips press into mine. The arm that isn't anchoring him to the corvette hooks around my waist and draws me into his chest. His lip ring is kind of an odd sensation, but on the whole, he's doing pretty well for himself. Way to go. I give him a three and a half on a scale of five. I'd probably give him a four if I knew him longer than two months. And oops. We have an audience. I'm supposed to be getting rid of him. I remember that I have arms and hands, and use them to gently push away from his chest.

"Um…wow…uh…thank you?" I say with piercing eloquence. "I hope there aren't any security cameras. Heh. Well, I better get back to checking on old Ethel before the maintenance guys come to yell at me." Smooth, Madge, smooth. It's not my fault, though. Maybe if I were kissed more often I wouldn't get so dopey.

And it was a good kiss.

And Quintus is a good smirker. Definitely. It nearly makes my knees buckle. He lets his hand fall from my waist and stands up straight again. "I'll leave you to it, then. See you tomorrow for our next lesson." The wink he gives me suggests that he might not necessarily mean the flight lesson. _Wow._ He walks away, and for a moment all I can do is watch his retreating figure. Too bad I won't actually be around for tomorrow's lesson. I hope he understands. I mean, deep down I know he's just a schmoozer, but who doesn't like to be schmoozed once in a while? And, dammit, I've felt a little neglected the last few years! It's nice to receive a little appreciation instead of glares. Or nothing at all, which has been the case for longer than I'd care to admit.

There's something I'm supposed to be doing.

Oh yes…dirty looks, it's time to peel myself off the frame and fly this circus out of the Underground. I take the long way around the back of the craft so that I can have a few seconds to cool down. I mean, of all the weird things to happen – Quintus just showing up and trying to kiss my lips off. I wish I had a gas mask on right now to hide the blush I'm sure is still there. I pop the hatch open and hop up into the seat. "Okay, everyone read to go?"

Silence.

Awkward. I try untangling the safety restraints without looking at anyone.

And then Peeta says, "That's—"

"Quintus. I got it," Gale growls.

"Must be the hairstyle, huh," I babble distractedly while I wrestle with my restraint belt, which is way too long. "Dead giveaway. I know."

"Friendly guy," Katniss mutters uneasily.

I hear a mutter that sounds distinctly like _Capitol tool. _When I look around, Gale's arms are folded across his chest, and he's staring stonily out the windshield. What is his deal? Does he despise Quintus off the bat because he's from the Capitol? That's not really fair, because Quintus fought alongside Mockingjay soldiers against Jabberjay forces. He even has a shrapnel wound somewhere that he refers to frequently.

The silence continues without interruption as I power on. Immediately, all the needles and gauges on the control panel spring to life. Ethel croons. Then coughs. Then croons again. Good girl.

Then I give her some juice and with only the slightest of grandmotherly groans, we rise off the tarmac. So far so good. Although, I wonder if I should warn them now that this might be a bumpy takeoff?

Nah. No sense in alarming them until they should really be alarmed.

"So, what are the plans for this _stolen_ corvette?" Gale asks Peeta and me as we coast past the other parked hovercrafts toward the mouth of the hangar.

"Oh that word." I cringe. "I prefer preemptive borrowing."

"I don't approve..."

I shoot him a glare. "Oh, because you're such a conscientious citizen, Gale, what with that _poaching_ record and shady dealing."

He scoffs. "Selling produce door to door is not shady."

"What about the Hob. Black market. Hello." I roll my eyes.

"Who does this belong to anyway?" he snaps, changing the subject. It takes me a second to pick up on the fact that he couldn't overhear my conversation with Quintus through the hatch.

"Haymitch," Peeta supplies when I don't.

"What?!" Katniss and Gale cry at once.

"You didn't honestly think I'd preemptively borrow something from someone I didn't know, did you?" Honestly. Only crooks borrow from people they don't know.

"Haymitch owns this?" Katniss asks. "How?"

"What else did you think he did with all that Victor income?" Peeta asks.

Gale mutters, "Squander it on drink and unsavory company?"

"_Please_. Haymitch is a slob, not a man-whore like Old Cray," I retort, coming to the man's defense. After all, he's sort of a guardian. In a lousy, hands-off sort of way.

Just before we clear the mouth of Hangar 1, I check to make sure we're clear on all sides. I notice Gale observing me. "What is _that_?" he asks, pointing at my clothes. I think. I look down at myself. Either that or he's offending my feminine attributes – but that's unlikely. I have good genes in that department. And they're accentuated in the tight, black getup I'm wearing.

Oops.

The craft lists sharply as my hands accidentally guide the controls toward the hangar wall. I hurriedly overcorrect it and we veer the opposite way. I hear Gale's head connect with the hatch and a consequent oath. Gyah! Why does someone always distract me when I'm trying to take off?

"It's a uniform," I hiss through clenched teeth as I try to regain control of Ethel and not clip the hangar in any direction.

"How did you get a hold of a Mockingjay uniform?" Gale asks as his hands scrabble for something to hold onto.

Why is he talking when I'm clearly distracted? "Uh, I nicked it."

With a few more strangled curses and seriously painful, white knuckles, we clear the hangar and shoot out into the twilight. I concentrate on shifting gears and following coordinates until we've reached our altitude. Then I punch in the navigation code and set the autopilot.

I release a long sigh of relief as I lean back deeply into the seat. I'm not the only one. The synthetic hide upholstery makes a rude noise as Gale slumps down in his chair. Ignoring him for a long moment, I allow myself to enjoy the rare sight of the open sky, fading to purple as the sun dips below us.

With another, slightly more content sigh, I swivel around, chancing a quick glance in Gale's direction. The dear boy sits there, ashen faced. "There's a bag under your seat if you're going to hurl."

"I thought we were going to die," he says in quiet staccato. Then his eyes sharpen into grey daggers. "Some of us still might."

Peeta has the grace to look chastised, but I huff. "You're _fine_."

"Actually, that was the most fun I've had in weeks," Katniss says, matter-of-factly. And then she smiles, unbuckles her restraints, and stretches her limbs like a feline.

I find myself smiling back. "Just wait till we land."

* * *

TBC

_Thanks for Reading_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Katniss's POV

* * *

_

"Where are we going anyway?" Gale asks through gritted teeth. He's been staring stonily out at the stars for half an hour without saying a word.

"That's a good question," Peeta says good-naturedly.

"Huh. Some planner," I hear Gale mutter. A grin spreads across Peeta's face, diffusing the ire. I hunch into my seat and smile back, a lesson I'm trying to learn from him.

"Well, Madge," asks Peeta, "where _are_ you taking us?"

"A very special place," she says, then rattles off a litany of coordinates that don't mean anything to me.

But Gale shoots up in his seat and splutters, "The new colony?"

"The same." She looks pleased.

"New colony?" Peeta asks, looking at me. "I didn't think there was anything there yet? I mean, it doesn't even have a name."

"Unless you count D13 Above," I snicker. Stupid name. Who came up with that, anyway?

"There isn't." Madge and Gale say in unison.

"Um," says Madge with a tinge of embarrassment. "We're getting a sneak peek."

Gale seems to forget his reserve and leans toward her, looking at the different dials. "How long till we get there?"

Just then – Effie—Ethel – whatever the damn contraption's name is, coughs. A lot. A shudder runs through the frame and we all bounce in our seats as the hovercraft experiences a sudden drop in altitude.

"Not soon enough, I take it?" Peeta murmurs. He grabs my unused safety restraints, which dangle off the armrests and jams the buckles in place. Then he blinks at me like he did all of that without even thinking.

Meanwhile, Madge and Gale, the only two who know anything about hovercrafts, share an uneasy glance as a thin plume of smoke issues from the nose of the hovercraft. Gale grips the arms of his seat.

"I think you'd better land her," he says, his voice tight.

Madge's eyes jump from gauge to gauge, which have started to go haywire. "I think you're right." She punches a few buttons, muttering something about the autopilot. Steam hisses through a valve overhead and Madge has to unbuckle herself to reach it.

Gale reaches for her, "Madge, don't—"

And then we plummet.

…

Eventually my vital organs crawl back down my throat into their properly assigned places. Somewhere a device flashes a tiny red light. I stare at it for a while, until I've taken stock of all my bones and teeth, making sure they're sound, and reached over to make sure Peeta's in one piece. He squeezes my hand, but neither of us says a word.

The air smells like scorched aluminum and oil.

"I'm going to kill Haymitch," Madge eventually groans into Gale's chest, where she landed after getting pasted to the ceiling. His face and shoulders are smashed against the hatch. One of his legs rests awkwardly on the control panel. "He has no business letting Ethel fall into disrepair."

Gale opens his mouth, and I can tell by the glint in his eyes that he's about to say something sharp, probably about Madge having no business stealing his hovercraft in the first place.

To be fair, Madge got us down as smoothly as she could. I don't suppose the initial spine-shattering bump at the end could be avoided.

"At least the safety restraints work. I'll have to let Haymitch know," Peeta interjects right away. We're both safe in our seats, a little bruised – especially my tailbone – but nothing worse. Miraculously.

"Not all of them," Gale says through gritted teeth, trying to help Madge into an upright position. She wasn't wearing one when Ethel gave out because she was busy frantically toggling gears, pushing buttons, and reaching at steaming valves overhead. Gale, however, had his restraints firmly buckled and she yet she managed to knock his right out of the seat when she pummeled into him. The frayed ends lie on the floor.

Something makes a popping sound and more steam issues from Ethel's nose.

"Do you think we should get out and have a look?" Peeta asks. The red blinking light casts a grim glow over the group and nobody seems eager to see the extent of the damage.

I ask, "Are we even on the ground?" All I can see is a black expanse out the windshield. Who knows where we've landed or in what conditions. We could be stuck in a dense grove or dangling precariously on a rocky ledge.

"Yeah," Madge says, gingerly messaging the back of her neck. "I saw us touch down just as it sent me flying into Gale, which…" she gives him a contrite frown, "…sorry."

"Forget it," he grumbles, trying to look like his whole body didn't just get bashed against the hatch.

Madge slips clumsily into the pilot seat and holds her head. "That can be arranged. Ouch."

"Well, Dr. Everdeen," says Peeta, after we all hold our breath for a moment. "Has she got a concussion?"

I glare at him as I take unlock the restraints. "You know that's not my thing."

Peeta scratches his head. "No? Then who was I thinking of? Oh, Prim." He grins. "We should have packed her, too."

My retort is interrupted by Gale, who is also out of his seat. He kneels down in front of Madge. "What is your name?" Gale asks her.

"What?" Madge shoots me a glance, wondering if Gale's out of his head. Then she looks down at him. "Y-you know my name."

"That's not the point," he replies, knuckling his forehead. "What are we doing?"

She blinks in time with the annoying red light. "I already told you." Her voice sounds watery and confused.

Gale huffs, folding his arms across his chest. "Okay, what were you just doing?"

"Crashing?"

"How do you feel?"

Madge frowns as he pelts her with questions. "Physically or emotionally?"

He huffs again. "I'm going to check your pulse."

"Do you even know what you're doing?" she squeaks when he touches her throat.

"Miners got concussions all the time. We had to know the signs," Gale explains, his voice flat as he measures her pulse against the glowing numbers on his digital watch. "I need a flashlight to check your eyes."

Madge swallows. "There's one in the stowage bin. We need to get out and look at Ethel anyway," she says, pushing his hand away. "I want to know how badly Haymitch is going to kill me."

The hatch on Gale's side won't open, so we climb out through the pilot hatch. It opens with a groan after Madge fiddles with the latch. A cabin light blinks on, giving us a smidgeon of visibility.

We are surrounded by…what I'm guessing in the dark…is lush coniferous forest. I can smell the resin from the pines, and when I reach down, my fingers feel the prick of dry needles. Okay. I can handle this.

Through the interior light, we can see that the corvette is dented, scratched, and smoking slightly, but in one piece. The only problem is the cargo bin on the passenger side, which has been ripped open by the impact. Only one bag remains, besides the one Peeta brought.

Madge groans when she sees this and we make her sit down on the forest floor. Gale takes charge of the bag and in the light from the hovercraft, inspects the supplies.

Two blankets, a flashlight, strawberry fruit leather, a crossword puzzle and a lighter. "That's it," he says, zipping it shut with a jerk. "What have you got?"

Peeta leafs through his bag, listing the items. "Five dozen homemade cookies, an extra sock, and a knife."

"That's all you've brought?" Gale gapes. "One sock and _cookies?" _

"And a _knife_," Peeta adds, his jaw tight. Gale rolls his eyes. "Everything else got packed in the stowage bin."

"Oooh," says Madge, and everyone shuts up in case she's about to pass out or something. "Help me up." Peeta and I give her a hand. Then she wanders back to the pilot's hatch and rummages around. When she comes back out, a glass bottle reflects the cabin light. She waves it around. "Haymitch forgot this."

"Liquor?" I ask, eyeing the familiar, clear liquid.

She nods. "Yep."

"Well, it's something," I say, taking it. I break the seal and uncap the bottle. The smell of the alcohol singes my nose hairs, but I take a pull. It burns down my throat, slowly spreading a languor through my veins. "Oh, that's nasty."

I hand it back to Madge, but Gale intercepts the bottle.

"Hey," she mumbles, as her hand hangs in mid air.

Gale rounds on her. "You may have a concussion, and alcohol," he waves the bottle at her as he chides, "will only create complications if you do. Besides, fuzzy wits are the last thing we need." He scowls at me.

"I agree," says Peeta, giving me a similar look of disapproval.

"What?" I snap, wondering why they're picking on me. Then I remember the first time I drank hard liquor. I spilled half a bottle all over the back of Gale's jacket, which stank of it for ages, just before I passed out drunk. I had an awful hangover the next day, which only made it more painful when Peeta reamed me out over it. So I say, "It's not like years ago. We're just a little stressed out."

Peeta crosses his arms, studying me, unconvinced. "Still."

My hands fly to my hips. "Peeta, I was upset. They'd just announced the Quarter Quell. Anyone in those circumstances –"

Peeta purses his lips like a parent waiting for his child's tantrum to pass. Then he chants, "Lots of people, like Haymitch, use alcohol as a coping mecha—"

How can he compare me to Haymitch? "I'm not—"

The sound of shattering glass ends the dispute. "Problem solved," says Gale, holding the jagged remains of the bottle's neck. My mouth pops open. Though, really, I shouldn't be surprised. Gale's always been impulsive.

But, not everyone is as used to that as me. "Oh my goodness, you just busted that on poor Ethel," Madge groans, plopping down on the lip on the hatch opening.

Gale smiles grimly. "I'm sure Haymitch will find it fitting."

She shakes her head, blinking in disbelief. "We could have just put it away."

"Well, what are we going to do now?" Peeta asks, looking around the forest though we can't see much. His mood lifted immediately after the white liquor was destroyed.

"Find out if the radio works, so we can get some help," Gale says, trying to gently shove Madge out of way so he can get back into the cabin.

Madge bites her lip. "It doesn't."

"What?" we all cry. Gale steps back and looks at her with incredulous eyes.

She cringes as she delivers the news. "It never has. Haymitch pulled it out so that people wouldn't bother him. Sorry, guys."

Gale turns his back on us, clenching his fists. "Great," he snarls. "Well, welcome to your new existence as full-time waifs. Starting off fine with two blankets and a bag of cookies between us."

"And a knife," Peeta reminds him.

"_Shut up,_" Gale spits over his shoulder.

We stand there, fuming and thinking, not saying a word in case something sparks the tension into a disaster. I bet everyone's wondering the same things. How far are we from the Underground? When will they miss us and how on earth can they find us?

We could make it for a few days, with Gale's and my shared knowledge, but what if this little trip becomes permanent?

"Look," Madge pipes up while she cradles her head in her hands. We all turn to look at her. "Maybe we should get some sleep and we'll figure this out in the morning," she mutters. Then she climbs inside Ethel and pulls up a floor tile, revealing a niche, where a box of tools lies hidden. And another flashlight. "Here, now we have two flashlights and a lighter." She replaces the tile, but leaves the toolbox out, since we'll be needing that.

She hands the hovercraft flashlight to Gale and the one from her backpack to me. We switch them on, and look around us. I'm right. Pine trees. Huge, old ones. Large, green ferns cover the forest floor, except for a long drag where Ethel skidded to her final resting place.

"Are we sleeping out here or in there?" Peeta asks, gesturing toward Ethel with his thumb.

"There isn't enough room," Madge tells him. "Not with the engine in the way."

Then comes the awkward moment when we pull the blankets out of the pack, and have to decide who gets what. At least, it shouldn't have been awkward, with the ratio being two and two.

So I say, "Madge and I can share one and you two can –"

Gale crosses his arms, looking like his dignity is in question. "No."

"Not really," says Peeta adds with a stubborn frown.

They won't even look at each other.

Madge rolls her eyes, then winces.

"Look, it's only for the night," I gripe. "Nobody expects you to start dating each other."

"No, Katniss," Gale repeats.

Madge grabs a blanket from upstairs. "Know what," she huffs. "Why don't you and Peeta take one, and Gale, you use this one. Go get some sleep." Madge shoves each blanket at me and I take it. "I'm going to take a look at Ethel anyway. I'll sleep in the pilot seat."

Both guys start to protest, but she gives me a look, pleading with me to get them out of her hair. Then she just turns around and reaches for the tools again. Ignoring everyone.

"Come on, Peeta," I say, grabbing his arm and dragging him behind me.

For a few minutes there's only the sound of the forest, of pine needles crunching under our feet, the distant yawp of a fox, or the scurry of a mouse over the bracken. But after a few yards, Peeta asks, "Isn't he supposed to come, too?" He gestures toward Gale, who doesn't seem to know what do to, and hovers just outside the corvette while Madge bends over the toolbox.

"Let him stay with Madge. That was _your_ plan, after all," I jibe, since Peeta should know better than to get involved.

Peeta cringes. "Yeah, I don't think right now either of them are at their best, though…." He stops like he's thinking about turning around.

I grab his wrist. "We're not going far in case, you know, one of them decides to kill the other," I say, with a bit of an edge in my voice.

He shrugs. "Right."

A few minutes later, we've managed to scrape together a decent bed of needles and ferns. Peeta, who's been looking over his shoulder every few seconds, throws the blanket down on top of the pile. We sit down.

"So, do you think it's working?" he asks as he rummages through his backpack.

"Stop staring at them," I reply. "They're fine."

He frowns in the glow of the flashlight. "I think they're fighting."

I laugh, thinking about how Gale's the last person to willingly cooperate with anyone else's plans for him. "That's about as close to romance as Gale ever gets," I reply, and then feel a pang of guilt as Peeta's shoulders bunch. Even if Gale and I have only ever kissed twice, it bothers him. So I quickly add, "If she wants something mushy, she'll have to stick with Quintus."

"Uh." Peeta grimaces at the suggestion. "Not really."

"Why?" I ask, with some surprise. I haven't met Quintus, and I didn't think Peeta had either. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's too nice." Peeta shrugs. I laugh and he looks a little hurt. "What?"

"_Quintus_ is too nice?" I elbow his side, since he is probably the nicest guy I know.

"A different nice," he says with a shrug. "Cookie?"

He holds one up for me to take. They're beautiful sugar cookies cut like flowers, each with a purple center and three petals covered in white icing: Katniss. I stare at it a moment, taking in Peeta's detailed hand and feeling pleased and choked up at the same time.

"Peeta," I murmur eventually, "we should ration those in case we're stuck here for a while." I take the bag away from him and seal it, though the scent makes my mouth water in protest. "Sixty cookies should last…"

He chuckles. "Sixty-five cookies, Katniss."

"What?" I wrinkle my nose, trying to figure out how the math could work out that way.

"Uh." He scratches his head. "Yeah, there's 13 in a baker's dozen. Geez."

Peeta laughs at me, which produces a scowl. How should I know? Half the time anything with the word _baker_ attached to it was priced outside of my budget range, and therefore, not an important detail.

I grouse, "Fine, sixty-five. Whatever"

Peeta shakes his head knowingly. "We should probably ration the batteries, actually," he says, switching off the flashlight.

Then his arm snakes around my waist and the mood shifts in the darkness. It's like we're really alone out here, despite the static sound of Madge and Gale's voices in the distance. It takes a while for my eyes to adjust. Even then, I can only see traces of Peeta's facial features, relying mostly on the sound of his voice.

"So…did you really bring only one sock?" I ask, remembering the earlier tension between the two guys. Gale shouldn't have reamed into him about his packing skills, but I have to agree that Peeta could use some improvement in that area.

I can hear the smile in his voice. "Katniss, I only need one sock. Why pretend?"

"I don't know…" Peeta's blunt acknowledgement of his wound makes me squirm, even now. Maybe it's the guilt, maybe it's that injuries still make me feel queasy? I can't bear to imagine what his…stump…must look like. After two years I still haven't seen it.

"Don't let it bother you," he murmurs against my temple for maybe the millionth time. "I mean, look on the bright side. It takes me twice as long to wear out a pair of socks."

I shake my head against his shoulder, though my fingers involuntarily trace the outer seam of his pants nearly down to the knee. I stop before my fingertips brush the prosthetic. "I don't know how you have such good humor about something like this." Not when I seem to feel sorrier about the loss of his leg than he does. And that's bad enough, since it's my fault for not being more like my mom. Then heap on more guilt for being safe while President Snow held him in his clutches as bait. Because, just my luck, I finally, _accidentally_ convinced President Snow of my love for Peeta.

At the exact moment when Peeta became the most vulnerable.

Peeta shrugs, then leans back to rest on his elbows, crinkling the dry brush beneath the blanket. "Humor's all I've got. I can't pull off a scowl like you can."

I scowl. He winks, which makes my lips tremble with the effort of holding on to the sour expression.

"See? You're a natural." Then he says seriously, "Do you think this escape plan was a stupid idea?"

I think about it for a moment, then smirk. "No. Anything to piss off Haymitch and get me out of that sewer sounds like a great plan to me."

Peeta looks gratified and we both share a moment at Haymitch's expense.

"Besides," I murmur after thinking a bit. "You've always been good at this."

His eyebrows contract as he looks a question. "At what?"

"The romantic stuff." I try to remember a specific moment. There are many. I think of the pearl and the locket he gave me. Or the time he pretended to braid my hair on the training center roof just so he could touch it. But one makes me giggle. Like a girl. Ugh. "Like the time you picked me flowers and they turned out to be wild onions. You didn't know what they were, but the thought behind it, picking me flowers; that sort of thing just comes to you. And I like it. Now that I'm used to it."

"I like doing those things for you," he says with his usual Peeta honesty. He smiles lopsidedly. "So I gave you an onion? When?"

"On the way home from the Games. The first time. Just before…"

The smile fades. "Just before you admitted that you'd been acting the whole time." He lays down on his back, quiet for a moment. "And I gave you onions that I thought were flowers – what would only be flowers to any other girl but you. Miss Backwoodsman." He snorts. "I bet Gale looked pretty prime just then."

"_Peeta_." I chide with frown. I hate it when he brings up Gale, my feelings for Gale, what Gale can do better than him. It's really got to stop.

"That's exactly what you thought." He presses, though he isn't accusing me, just stating a fact.

I shrug and find a loose thread on the blanket and play with it. "Well, I thought of Gale, yes. But it's wasn't like that. I wasn't in love with him, and I wasn't _not_ in love with you."

"Wasn't not?" He chuckles and tugs on my sleeve. "Panem's educational system failed you."

I snap off the loose thread with a snort. "What I mean is that I wasn't in love with you, but that doesn't mean I felt indifferent or uninterested. I didn't know what I wanted." I expel a sharp breath, remembering the confusion I felt and how little help I had finding answers. "We were sixteen, for crying out loud, and just barely escaped from the Capitol with our lives. We were being messed with that whole time either by the Capitol or by Haymitch. I didn't know if I could believe all the things you told me or if you acted it as much as I did." I pause, remembering, and my chest tightens. "But all those months of silence…I didn't like that. Not that I really helped, but…"

Peeta grasps my hand in his. His hands are warm and strong, maybe not as strong as Gale's. But I bet in a brawl, Peeta would win. "I'm sorry," he says, sounding contrite. "I just didn't know what else to do. I've never felt so disappointed and foolish in my life. And the whole country, and most of all our families, knew what an idiot I'd made of myself over you."

_Peeta a fool?_ I snort. "As far as Panem was concerned, I still felt madly in love with you."

"But you weren't." Then he smirks. "Not yet, anyway."

"I'm not _madly_ in love with you," I retort, rolling my eyes. "It implies that I am out of my mind. But if I am unhinged, it's not because of what I feel for you. If anything, loving you has made me more balanced than I've ever been since my dad died."

"How so?" he whispers.

I take a deep breath and plunge forward. Talking about stuff like this doesn't come natural for me. I'm more inclined toward, well, scowling and brooding. But Peeta needs this, always a little hungry for affirmation.

So I say, "Because I'm not just surviving for the sake of it anymore. I've got something to live for, and you help me see the beauty in what's around me. Before you, I only saw what I could use to survive. And you know people. Others have always been a puzzle to me, but strangely, I feel more human when I'm with you."

Peeta lies there with a shattered look on his face. A good shattered.

"Something in me responded to you, always," I say as the feeling of his hand reminds me of how much his warmth has always meant to me. "I kept track of you. And I remember the first night together in the cave, when we shared the sleeping bag."

"Yeah?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

I blush. "Stop. What I mean is I felt safe for the first time since my dad died. Nobody had held me like that for years…I never knew how much I missed it until that moment. And you were always the only one who could keep the nightmares away."

Peeta gently pulls me down alongside him, till I'm resting in my usual place, with my head over his heart, and his arms enfolding me. "You'll always be safe with me."

"I know," I mumble into his shirt.

His lips press against my hair and I close my eyes. "And you make me feel the same way. I love you."

"I…um…I…" I try to choke it out.

Peeta chuckles. "It's okay, Katniss, I know you love me, too."

"How do you know?" _When I still have such a hard time saying it out loud?_

"I figure if President Snow snatched me instead of Gale, well…you know. He could obviously see what you were feeling, when I couldn't."

Hearing him say this makes the back of my eyes prickle painfully. "Peeta, that's an awful way to find out…" My voice sounds watery.

"Hey," he murmurs, gently massaging my arm. "That was supposed to be funny."

"Well, it isn't," I choke, though my throat feels tight. "It's my fault. Everything that's happened to you is my fault. Your leg, the bait…the disappointment…"

I feel his lips frowning against my forehead. "That's not true, Katniss. You didn't put my name in the reaping ball twice, nor did you design the arenas. And you aren't Snow. He hurts people on purpose. You saved my life, over and over again. How many times do I have to say that before you believe me?"

"A lot?" I sniffle.

We're quiet for a moment, listening to each other breathe. Somewhere an owl screeches, disturbing a branch as it takes off in search of prey. It is not a comfortable sound.

"Okay, let's start over," Peeta says, making me straightening up with him. His hands gently cup my face. We're nearly nose to nose, so that we can see each other. "I know you love me because you saved me. It's the things you do. I figured that out when you told me about gifting Prim with her goat. Let's face it; I'm the verbal one in this relationship." I grimace, but it's true. "You give yourself – that's how you show love. And you know," he continues, as he kisses the tip of my nose. "I am very open to letting you show me just how much that is."

I laugh and let him kiss me. He pulls me down nearly on top of him, my leg resting over his. My toes curl when his hands trail down my waist and rest on the small of my back. Then I'm distracted by wondering if his toes do that too when I kiss him. And that he only has one set of toes to curl…and only brought one sock.

"You're distracted again," he murmurs, nibbling my throat.

"I was thinking about your foot." My voice comes out oddly raspy.

He smiles against my skin. "I said don't worry about it."

I pull away a little and feel his arms tighten around me. "I'm not blaming myself, I just wondered if…if I made you feel the way you make me feel," I say, followed by a shaky laugh.

Peeta rests his head back on the ground to look up at me. His throat constricts as he swallows. "How you make me feel? Heh…I'm usually way ahead of you."

"Oh," I reply, feeling both happy and foolish. Maybe a little giddy. But then I falter a little. "You know…one thing I still don't get – "

His eyebrow arches. "Only one?" he drawls.

"Shut up, Peeta," I sigh, playfully holding a finger up to his mouth. "What I don't get is, if you're so good at reading people, how come you didn't know that I wasn't on the level about my feelings in our first Games?"

He shrugs and pulls my hand away. "Because I wanted to believe you, and I figured I'd be dead soon. So why bother to find out if you meant it when you kissed me or…or told me that I didn't have competition?" He tweaks my braid. "Besides, you're such a poet. Everything you said dazzled me. _That goat's a gold mine, eat your soup, keep your clothes on, Peeta._"

"Ugh." I try to sit up. "I did not say that."

Peeta laughs, not letting me go. "And the funny thing is you still want us to keep our clothes on."

"I do not!" I squeak, blushing. "I mean, I do. I mean, _you_ _know_ _what_ _I mean."_ I huff and roll off of him. "We should get some sleep."

"Okay." His hand inches up my shirt.

"Peeta!" I shriek, jerking the fabric down.

He purses his lips. "Told you so."

* * *

TBC

_Thanks for reading!_


	5. Chapter 5

An: _Thanks go Geeky for the parenthetical cheerleading...some of which I did forget to remove, though not the fun ones...we should be good now.  
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**Chapter 5**

_In which Gale finally gets a word in edgewise.

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_

Katniss and Peeta retreat with the other blanket. I watch them until I can only see the yellow beam of their flashlight and hear the awkward tread of a certain foot. Katniss still hasn't taught her boyfriend how to travel quietly through the woods.

My own hands bunch around the flashlight and the other blanket, although they're itching to throttle a few necks instead. I knew confiding in Katniss about my feelings for Madge Undersee scored pretty low on the list of useful plans. And telling Katniss anything means telling Mellark nowadays. When they offered advice, I _told_ them I'd find a way to talk to Madge on my own terms. Once I felt ready and knew what my plans were for the future.

Definitely not when Madge was busy with a _heist_.

And if that blows up in our faces…I can just imagine the scene:

_Excuse me, Officer, I'd like to tell the young woman wearing stripes a few cells down that I've been in love with her for over three years. No, not the grouchy brunette. I know. Contrary to popular belief. The other one with a concussion. The ring leader? Yeah, that's the one. So, would you mind letting me out of here for just a sec…._

Yeah, that will go over well.

Yet, another part of me thinks that although the situation isn't ideal, maybe this _is_ it. It's not like Madge is going anywhere.

I glance over my shoulder toward the hovercraft. Madge crouches on the hatch, bending over the toolbox. The black material of her uniform blends into the darkness, except for the small pool of light coming from the compartment. She must have done some research on potential uniform donors, because it fits to a T. It's a good job she can't tell that my mouth is watering.

I decide to take the chance. Maybe she'll refuse me or make denials. But I'll make her see sense.

I clear my throat. "Madge."

She drops something that clanks on the floor. _"What?"_ she hisses, kneading her fingers against her temples.

Okay. A little hostility on her side. I swallow, looking in the opposite direction toward Katniss and Peeta – whoa. Where'd their light go? I try to scan through the darkness with my eyes, wondering what they're up to. Then I cut off that line of thought and chuckle deep in my throat. Whatever it is, it's none of my business.

So I quit looking and step toward Madge. "How's your head?"

"Fine," she answers gruffly, avoiding my eyes.

I breathe out slowly. This won't be easy if she doesn't play along. "Are you sure? You hit it pretty hard." Then hit _me_ with it pretty hard. My hand inches toward my bruised chest, but I resist the urge to soothe it.

"I'm aware of that, Dr. Hawthorne," she snaps, mimicking Peeta.

I take another step closer, cautiously though, like I'm approaching a wounded animal. The kind that can still rip your guts out even if your arrow is embedded in its side. "You should probably sit down for a mo—"

Madge whips around to face me with a scowl, then wobbles a little. I reach to steady her, but she leans against the hatch. "I'm busy, Gale. Can't you see that I've got a busted hovercraft on my hands?" But she slides down to sit anyway.

"I do see that." My arms cross over my chest, though not very comfortably with the objects I'm holding. "It can wait. I'd like to speak to you—"

"No, it can't wait," Madge groans, waving her hand at the beast. "Don't you see? We were supposed to return tomorrow before Haymitch notices. He's usually asleep until late afternoon." She drops her head in her hands. "This plan failed epically."

"Yes, it did," I reply, giving up on the _nice _plan. Tact isn't really my shtick, anyway, and I doubt she's in the mood for a romantic confession. In fact, I think she hates me. "Frankly, I'm surprised you're flying at all. I don't really see you as the pilot type."

She sniffs indignantly. A faint breeze filters through the trees, wafting her hair over her shoulders. Underneath the scent of resin and earth, I detect the lemony hint of wild verbena. I lean against the hovercraft, drinking it in. Sucker.

"Why'd you learn in the first place?" I ask, trying not to get distracted by my attraction to her. She seems reluctant to talk, but I'm curious.

Madge looks up, but not at me. Her eyes fix on the blank wall of darkness obscuring the forest. "Because the new settlement will need pilots more than they'll need piano teachers," she says with a wry twist of her lips. Then her eyes light on me. "What with the distance and their need for supplies."

The new settlement. Thinking about it makes my pulse quicken, the same way sneaking out into the woods back home used to. The new republic officials only just announced their plan to fund the colony a year ago. They chose a location north of old District 13. At the time, the plan teetered on the brink of uncertainty, but now that a peace treaty with the overturned Capitol is underway, and a modicum of peace expected, plans have started up again. And none too soon. Although many Mockingjay confederates will return to their home districts, those of us from Seven, Eleven, and Twelve have no home to return to, except the Underground. With an expansion potential of zero.

But the land appointed for this colony stood empty since the days before Panem, abandoned terrain which Capitol officials might have found use for, had they not lost the rogue district, thereby blocking their path. Whatever manmade structures existed in the region are long gone. I've seen aerial shots – massive, first growth trees as far as the eyes can see rising into a shield. Not ideal farm country – but the _hunting_…

Lately I've had a hard time thinking about anything else. Trying to recall the feeling of bracken under my feet, and the ferns feathering beneath my hands. In the woods, light filters through the canopy, catching on spider webs, or coming down in slanting rays on a glade. Then someone will call my name, and with a start, I'll realize that a quarter of an hour has passed without knowing what's going on around me.

It's not even a question in my mind – _I'll be there_.

I just don't know who'll come with me. Though I hope Madge would consider. I don't always understand her motivations – especially one pertaining to a certain snowy night. But I think I know what it suggests - I'm going to get to the bottom of that. Tonight, maybe? If her mood improves.

And I know she could handle the difficulties. With no family, she managed to look after herself. Got a job somebody with her background might have thought beneath her. Pluck is always a quality I've admired in girls.

We're friends…or at least, we were going to be. It doesn't hurt that she's pretty, and I figured out that she isn't indifferent to me. Before I enlisted, I used to see her every day. District 12 people stick together in the Underground. But as a Mockingjay soldier, I just couldn't. Sometimes, when I returned on leave, I'd walk in the door to find her sitting with Posy and my mom. I've wanted to tell her that I missed her and that I thought she looked beautiful. Ask if she would consider going out with me?

The truth is, after what we've been through with the firebombing and moving to a completely new city – I mean, the farthest I've been from home, up until then, was only a few miles into the woods – we've learned a lot about one another. I probably would have asked her to marry me within a year. Had I not enlisted. It wouldn't be fair if something happened to me during a mission. So, I guess I balked.

And now? Feels like we've gone backwards.

Still, my mother said that Madge showed interest in the colony. Although neither of us realized that her interest took a mechanical turn.

For the worse.

I glower, thinking about our unfortunate flight. "They'll need supplies that actually arrive, you know."

Madge's blue eyes cut through me. "Shut up. I'm a good pilot," she grouses. "Quintus said I just need more practice. And an Ethel that works."

Quintus…that green-haired hobgoblin. I know his type. He's the kind of guy that enjoys easy victories over girls who don't know better, for the sake of his own vanity. She's his student, after all. Isn't there a code about that? I wanted to punch the glass out of the hatch window when he swooped in on her. And she seemed to like it!

We sit in an uncomfortable silence for a minute or two while I contemplate ripping the rings out of his nose.

"What's wrong with teaching kids to play the piano?" I grumble. At least you aren't in danger from slutty male pilots.

"Who's going to own one?" she retorts. "There won't even be children there right away."

Then I say, "There are other ways to contribute to the new colony. You could – "

She puts her hand on her hip. "Wait tables?"

"Yeah." I shrug. "There's bound to be some sort of inn."

"Ugh." I can tell that she's trying hard not to stamp her foot. Even though she's sitting.

"Or run for mayor," I add, just to push her buttons.

She blinks, then glares at me. _"Please."_

Before I can respond she grabs the toolbox and clumsily shunts herself out of the hovercraft. The nose of the Peregrine-61 presses into the dirt, where the landing gears would normally hold it four or five feet off the ground. Fortunately, in this case, they're jammed underneath the fuselage, so a ladder won't be necessary. Madge already popped the hood open, so she puts the box down and starts examining the grimy metal interior.

"Hand me the wrench," she orders.

Her demanding tone makes me smirk, but I play along. Dropping the blanket by the flashlight, I walk over and crouch down by her side. I rummage around in the rusted box, finding an empty miniature wine bottle. I toss it over my shoulder, then hand her the wrench. "Do you need me to hold the flashlight for you?" I ask, stepping close to her side.

Her head turns a fraction in my direction, then she swallows. "No." She sidles away from me and proceeds to bang on something I can't see in the murk.

After a few minutes of this head-splitting racket, I grip her arm. The sound of ringing metal fades into the trees. "I don't think that's helping the Peregrine." I refuse to call it Ethel.

"Well, it's helping me!" she retorts, swinging the wrench in an arc.

I snatch the tool out of her hand, getting knuckled for my efforts. I barely contain the impulse to suck on my smarting fingers, but in the end I manage to man up.

"Let me have a look." I shoo her away, then hunch under the hood for a closer examination. I can't see a darn thing, so I grab the flashlight.

Damn. My heart sinks as the light reveals a burned out belt.

I lean on my hands, gripping the aluminum skirt while the wrench forms an indentation on my palm. "I'm guessing we don't have a spare?" I mutter, looking over my shoulder.

"No," she grumbles.

I throw down the wrench. "Forget it. We aren't going anywhere."

"I figured that," she says in a flat tone. "Now what will we do?"

What will _we_ do? I don't know. But I _do_ know what I'm going to do. "Sleep."

"Good luck. There's still the question of who gets that blanket," she says, reneging on her offer to sleep in the pilot seat.

I pause. "You're right. Let's see." I say, tapping a finger against my lips. "You all forced me on this picnic…"

"I prefer recon mission, but essentially, yes," Madge huffs.

"…so I think I deserve a blanket as compensation. Why don't you join Katniss and let Peeta freeze."

Madge puts her hands on her hips. "Don't you think that's a bit selfish? Besides, we came so that _they_ could be alone. Or at least I did. Nobody told me why you're here—"

"That makes two of us."

"—and I won't let you bother them."

"Won't you?" I arch an eyebrow, sizing her up. She chews her lip as I take a step toward her.

"I'll use physical force if necessary," she threatens.

"As interesting as that scenario might be," I drawl, after I carefully consider the pros and cons of getting her to follow through with that threat, "I'll concede this once. Peeta can share with Katniss while _you_ freeze, since you stole a faulty hovercraft."

"Ugh!" she exclaims.

"Or you can share with me."

Her eyes grow wide and her jaw drops. "I don't know what you have in mind, Gale Hawthorne, but if you think that I'm the sort of girl who—"

"What?" I ask. "The sort of girl who snogs men that look like they ran into barbed wire?"

She splutters. "That's the first time anything like that has ever happened to me! And I certainly didn't _ask _him to kiss me."

"You liked it."

Madge squares her shoulders. "That's none of your business."

"Look, you can feel as indignant as you like, but it doesn't change the facts," I say, straightening up to my full height. "Only one blanket and two of us." She wrinkles her nose at me, glancing in the direction of Katniss and Peeta. "Their flashlight turned off a long time ago." I rib her. "It's chilly out, isn't it?"

Madge glares. "Then you should do the gentlemanly thing and—"

"Not strangle you?" I drag my fingers through my hair, gripping the strands hanging down the back of my own neck. "God, I didn't realize you were such a troublemaker."

"Troublemaker?" she blusters, then winces.

"Yes, troublemaker," I continue. I have to admit that I like getting her dander up. She actually talks. So I say, "And a thief."

Her jaw drops again. "I am not!"

"And it's getting worse. I can understand newspapers when Katniss and Peeta needed them; and maybe a uniform…but _hovercrafts? _Madge, I think you have a serious problem."

"So you're the only one who's allowed to participate in the seedy underbelly of society?" Madge sneers, stepping right up to me – pinning me with her finger. "Your mother didn't teach you about double standards?"

"This is not about double standards. It's—"

"And for the record," she interrupts, pushing against my chest with the flat of her hand. "I don't need a big brother, so back off."

I grab her wrist where it's pressed against me. Her hand feels cold. "That's not really what I had in mind either."

Madge blinks at me while I lean down till we're nearly nose-to-nose. I feel the erratic pulse in her wrist and her eyes are nearly black.

"But for the record," I say, holding her there, "if I were your older brother, I'd tell you right now that your boyfriend's a phony…"

"Boyfriend?" She wriggles, trying unsuccessfully to free her wrist, and gives up. "That _guy_ is a war hero and just a friend of mine."

"Just a friend?" I growl, grabbing her by the shoulders. "I think you're a few degrees past friendship. At least he is."

"Don't be silly." But she doesn't sound like she's convincing even herself. Her voice wavers. She sinks against me. "I don't think of him that way, Gale…I..."

I tilt my head downward, wondering for a moment if she means to kiss me, but Madge crushes that thought by blacking out.

Huh?

It's when I try to lift her head off my chest that I feel the bump above her ear.

* * *

TBC

_Thanks for reading!_


	6. Chapter 6

**AN**: Sorry, I went in to fix something and ended up re-posting chapter 6 from Redux. Meh.

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**Chapter 6**

_Madge's POV_

"Stop it," I moan, blindly trying to block whatever is tapping my cheek. The irritant ceases.

"Welcome back," I hear Gale intone. "Thanks for the heart attack."

"Huh?" Did I go somewhere? And heart attack… My fuzzy mind tries to process around the tiny anvils at work in my head. If Gale is having a heart attack…then I should call for emergency medical assistance. I should get up. I'm not standing, am I? My eyes crack open. I see a wall of darkness and feel my hands pressed between it and my body. I rub my fingertips over it – fabric. Cotton. Whatever the thread count is…well, it's low. Slowly, my eyes travel upward. The slight movement makes me wince as my head aches. At first it looks like a halo hovers around Gale's head. But no, that couldn't be.

And it isn't a halo, just backlighting from Ethel's cabin that spills out in a crescent outside the corvette. Slowly it comes together. I'm sitting across Gale's lap while his arms hold me up. I mistook his shirt for the wall of darkness.

"I'd save you," I mumble, squinting into his dark, gray eyes, "but I feel sick."

"Save me?" His face crinkles with confusion.

"From heart failure."

"That's just an expression, Madge. You haven't actually caused my heart to stop."

"Oh." I look away, but not at the light. It hurts my eyes.

"Although…never mind," he mutters. "Uh, you'll feel lousy for a bit. Got a nice bump on your head."

My lips spread into a goofy smile. A _nice_ bump? I don't know what he's talking about, but it sounds nice. "Did you kiss me?" I ask without thinking. And in the next few seconds when I do think about it, I have a feeling that maybe I shouldn't have said it.

Gale laughs silently. I can feel it shaking his shoulders and chest, and in the gentle puffs of air stirring my hair. "Thought about it, but no." I can hear him smirking. One of his hands takes mine and my heart speeds up. I think he's about to bring it to his lips, but then he guides it up to my left ear. Two inches above the top of my earlobe is the knobbiest lump that has ever made an appearance on my skull. Oh. It doesn't seem very nice at all.

"I feel sick." I think I've said it before, but it seems worth repeating.

"Would that make you sick? If I kissed you?" he asks.

My cheeks burn a little in conjunction with the acrobats in my stomach. "That's not what I meant." I try to move but something holds me back, and it's not just my equilibrium on the fritz. A sinewy arm with thin scars hiding underneath a layer of fine, black hair hooks around my waist, pinning me against the cotton shirt, or rather, Gale. "If you didn't kiss me, how did we get like this?"

"You keeled over."

"Unconscious?" My voice sounds strangled.

"Yeah. For about ten minutes," he tells me as he kneads the back of his neck. "Once is enough, so maybe you should hold still for a while."

I droop against his chest, feeling completely embarrassed. And unnerved. Might as well add that to the mix.

But I say, "I'm thirsty." The dryness in my mouth increases as I imagine the water bottles I packed, now lying useless somewhere. Stupid Ethel. I glower in her general direction.

Bad idea. Facial movement equals brain fireworks and violent stomach whirlpools.

"I'll find some. Right now you'd better take it easy," he says. I believe him. "Here, have some of this."

I feel him twist to reach for something behind us. I clutch his shirt for an anchor. The sounds of rummaging remind me of the backpack that didn't escape with the others. Gale turns back around, then he places a slim, plastic packet in my hand. Fruit leather. I stare at the cabin light winking off the red strawberry logo. I want water, not this.

Gale leans forward, reaching for it again, and squeezing me between his two arms while he opens the packet. Cozy. Then he hands it back to me with the plastic peeled down like a banana.

"Eat it," he orders.

"I'm not hungry," I tell him. "I feel dizzy."

"Keep your blood sugar up," he says. "It'll help with the headache."

My nose wrinkles. "Are you sure?"

"No." He shrugs. "It couldn't hurt, though."

Grudgingly, I take a bite of the thin, red strip, which I packed thinking I'd have better food. Like marshmallows and chocolate that some blessed raccoon is probably enjoying right now. "It doesn't taste as good as fresh strawberries, but it travels better," I mutter to myself.

Gale purses his lips. "You had quite a taste for strawberries, I recall."

"Uh. You could say that," I reply. More like I had a taste for seeing Gale on my back stoop on a regular basis. After school let out at the beginning of summer, it was my only excuse for seeing him. The fresh fruit was an expensive bonus.

When I've swallowed the last bite, my stomach growls. There's nothing like eating when you aren't hungry to make you realize that you are.

"I want another one."

He laughs again. "Sorry, we're on a strict diet until I figure out where our next meal will come from."

"Did Peeta and Katniss leave the cookies?" I ask hopefully.

"No."

"Oh." Then I ask, "Did you eat?" I hold up the empty wrapper.

"Not yet," he answers.

"Aren't you hungry?" I frown, feeling guilty for eating when he won't.

"I'm thirstier." Of course he is. We haven't had a drink of anything for hours.

"Sorry, Gale," I sigh, thinking about how badly I've messed this up for everyone. . "I'm entirely to blame. If we'd all just gone to Level 11—"

"Forget it, Madge" he says. "We've got to focus on taking care of you now. Unfortunately, we've got no ice, no painkillers, and no water. So, treatment's a little sketchy at this point." Then he smirks. "But there is one positive thing."

"What's that?" I ask, perking up a bit.

Gale's smile broadens, revealing strong, slightly misaligned teeth. Not as flashy as Quintus, but real. "You've got a definite diagnosis."

"Ugh." I cringe.

"What?" Gale blinks, all innocent or whatever. "That's usually the hardest part."

"Fine, be trivial," I grouse. "But I distinctly remember you saying that I gave you a heart attack."

"So you did." His arms fall away from my waist. "Do you think you can manage to stand up?"

I ask, "Where are we going?"

"I'm going." He points to himself and then to me. "You're staying."

"Why?"

His eyebrows arch, like the answer is obvious. "You need water, we all do, and that at least, I can find. But, uh, you're definitely not in any shape to tag along."

My eyes widen with the implication. "Are you leaving me alone?"

Gale pauses. He scratches his head and looks off into the pines. "I'll go find Katniss and Peeta, if that—"

"No! You can't," I cry, making my head twinge. Ouch. We sit still for a moment while the little hammers pounding away at my brain quiet down.

"Look," he murmurs eventually. "Whatever they've got going on over there is not as important as your health or safety."

I blink for a moment, taking in the…he said something sweet, right? "I could come with you." Maybe? "If I feel too sick, then you can leave me under a tree, I guess, but at least –"

"No." He helps me to my feet. My head feels like it's splitting. "Come on."

"Stop, Gale," I say while he props me up against his side and starts walking in the direction the others went. He pauses. "Everyone's always bugging Katniss and Peeta."

He frowns down at me. "Folks who ask Katniss to sign their babies' foreheads are a nuisance, I'll grant. An injured friend dropping in on their fun time, however, is a necessity."

My mind gets stuck on one part, though. How much fun are they having? I mean, I figured some kissing and stuff, but…I feel myself blush. "Does that bother you, at all?"

"What?" he asks, looking puzzled.

I shift uncomfortably. "That they're, you know, dating?"

Gale snorts. "They've been dating for two years. Why ask me now?"

"So does it?" I press.

He grows very still. "No."

"But you're not very nice to Peeta, and I thought, maybe..."

"I'm over Katniss. That doesn't mean that Peeta Mellark is my new BFF." He shrugs. "We're sorta different guys."

"I'll say," I mutter. And I'd sooner expect Peeta to say BFF...

Gale dusts himself off then takes my elbow. "Come on."

I balk. "Gale, what if I stayed in the hovercraft? I don't think I'd mind being alone in there."

"What if you pass out again and drown in a puddle of your own drool?" he replies.

"I promise not to." I plead, "_Please don't make me go over there._"

He half-grimaces. "I don't know…"

"I'll do a crossword puzzle so that I'll stay awake."

Gale looks skeptical, but agrees to let me stay by myself. He helps me up into the fuselage, then scoops up the backpack and blanket, throwing them down by the pilot seat. I sink into Peeta's chair, reaching under the seat to find one of those little white bags that's coated in wax. I clutch it to my chest as my stomach roils.

Meanwhile, Gale searches the hovercraft for empty bottles. Haymitch hides junk rather than throw it away, which I know because Hazelle regaled me with tales of housekeeping in Castle Abernathy. It works out in our favor, though, since we don't have anything else to hold water – at least nothing that's safe.

"Are you sorry for smashing that other bottle on Ethel?" I murmur when Gale picks up yet another half pint. "It was bigger."

He huffs.

"You can use my boots as jugs, if you want," I tease, watching while he does all the work.

"I'd sooner use Peeta's left boot," he retorts. "Then the water wouldn't taste like toes."

I giggle quietly—_poor Peeta_—and see a smile sliver across Gale's profile, while he's turned to look in a side compartment. My heart hiccups a little, which could totally be the symptom of a concussion. Except that I know better.

"I think that's it," Gale tells me while he stashes the bottles away inside of the backpack lying on the floor. Wiping his hands on his trousers, he pulls out the crossword puzzle book and hands it to me. Gale then picks pine needles off the blanket. I reach for it when it looks like he's about to hand it to me. But Gale ignores my hands, and drapes it over my legs himself, tucking it around my waist.

Whoa.

I blink at him, thrown off by the gallant gesture. Weren't we just arguing about who would get to use it a little while ago? "T-thanks," I stammer, thinking I should probably pass out more often.

"I'll be quick," he promises.

I whisper, "Okay." Though I bet we could be far from any water source, which makes my tongue feel like it's sticking to the roof of my mouth.

"I'm taking the flashlight, and if anything happens…"

"I'll be fine," I try to say with a stout voice, but it wavers. "You won't get lost, will you?"

"Me? No." Gale studies me a moment, then grabs the backpack and slings it on his shoulders. "I'll be back soon."

He slips out the hatch and disappears into the darkness. The beam from the flashlight appears and I watch until it outside of my range of sight.

I hear some crinkling and look down at the crossword puzzles. I relax my grip on them, then try to smooth out the crimped paper. Crap. I forgot to bring a pencil. There's always something.

…

I'm drinking tea with Quintus and Gale. They start shaking hands while I watch their knuckles turn white. In the other hand they each hold a cup, spilling tea all over the place while their arms bob up and down. Quintus's cup has a beautiful, hand-painted rose pattern, and is made of thin bone china. Gale's cup is not adorned in any way, but it sure is bigger. I start throwing scones at their heads to get them to stop arm wrestling, but then I feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder –

And I wake up with a scream.

"Shh! Hell's teeth, it's just me." The hand clamps over my mouth. "You're splitting my ears."

"Gale?" I speak into his hand. It sounds like _gahr_.

"Who else?" he replies, removing his hand.

I glare. "I don't know. You can't just grab a girl's shoulder like that when she's sleeping." I slump in the chair, with my arms draped over the armrests in beatific sorrow. "I'm not well."

"Drink this," he orders, ignoring my dramatic display. He holds up one of the bottles and the cabin light twinkles off of it.

"Is that water?" I clutch it between both my hands and hug it to my chest. "You best – guy – _ever_!"

Gale snorts, averting his eyes. "Bump's addled you some."

He can twit me all he likes. I don't care. I twist off the cap as quickly as possible and down the bottle's contents in seconds. The water soothes my throat and unsticks my tongue. I can feel it spread a cool trail downward and pool in my stomach. Aaah. It's only after I finish the half pint that it occurs to me that the supply might need to last a while.

"Oops," I murmur. I look up at Gale and cringe. "Sorry."

Gale smiles. "S'okay. There's a stream less than a mile away." He holds out another bottle, but I'm reluctant to take it, despite my thirst. "I drank plenty from the stream."

"We should probably save some for Peeta and Katniss."

He shrugs. "They'll surface when they're thirsty enough. Unlike you, they can manage the hike."

So, I accept the water, and drink half of it. Gale slumps against the back of the pilot seat, and I notice how exhausted he looks. I'm tired, too, but I've had a nap. I start to peel the blanket off.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

I fold the blanket, albeit sloppily, and hold it up for him. My body feels cold from its absence. "Here, it's your turn."

Gale shakes his head. "No, Madge, I don't need it."

"It's not fair for me to have it and I've already gotten some sleep—" He smirks, reminding me of the promise not to fall asleep. "By accident. Besides, I'm starting to feel better already. At least, my head doesn't ache so much."

Gale frowns. "Don't need it."

"But—"

"Come, I'll show you." Gale offers me his hand and pulls me from the chair.

Outside, my eyes are immediately arrested by the welcome sight of a wood fire several yards away. And this time I'm dragging Gale along. I drop on my knees next to the backpack, tossing the blanket aside, and thrust my hands toward the flames. I feel the heated air against my face, and the answering flush on my cheeks. I breathe in the aroma of resin and wood smoke, and a contented sound emerges from the back of my throat. I _love_ that smell.

It's what Gale…smells like. The thought acts like a starburst in my head. Then I realize that he's been standing there watching my ecstasy over the campfire. He casually leans toward the flames with his hands in his pockets. But his eyes look sharply on me.

"Thanks for all this," I say, indicating the water and fire and the blanket. Really. It's more than I deserve.

"It's _fine_, Madge," he says irritably. "Don't worry about it."

But I can't. I hang my head, thinking about my faults. "You said earlier that I made this mess, and you're right. Plus, I can't fix the situation or make it more comfortable for you guys, so here's the blanket. I want you to use it—"

Gale takes the blanket only to drop it in my lap again. "Look, I was angry when I said that stuff." He shrugs. "I'm over it. Keep the blanket. I'm warm enough with the fire."

I want to argue the point, but the stubborn set of Gale's jaw tells me it's not worth the effort. So I drape the blanket around my shoulders, but I also grab the backpack and take out a strawberry leather.

I hold it out to him. "Eat it."

He takes it wordlessly and I watch him eat the fruit snack till it's gone. Which doesn't take very long. Then I hand him the half-consumed bottle of water, which he balks at.

"I won't bother you anymore if you drink it," I promise him. "It'll ease my conscience."

Gale downs it all in one mouthful. He screws the top back on and throws the empty back in the bag.

"Now get some sleep," he tells me.

"Out here?" I ask, glancing around the ring of light from the fire. Wondering if any animals around here have a taste for young women?

"You can sleep in the hovercraft if you like, but it's warmer by the fire," Gale tells me, pivoting around toward Ethel.

"Right. Yeah."

A knowing grin creases his cheeks. "Scared of the big, bad wolves out there?"

_Wolves?! _I sniff weakly. "Not particularly."

His voice drops to a mock whisper. "Because I'll let you hold my hand if that helps."

"Ugh." I turn my back on him and lie down a safe distance from the sparks with the blanket covering my face. It takes a few minutes to root out all the little rocks and pine needles poking through my clothes, but the debris can't compete with injury-induced exhaustion.

…

I'm wakened by a piercing shriek a short way off. Heart pounding, my eyes fly open. It's pitch black save for the stars overhead and the soft, orange embers in the fire pit. A tree branch creaks as a creature swoops through the branches overhead, blocking out the stars, punctuated by anguished squeaks and the sound of heavily flapping wings.

The forest stills again and my breathing returns to normal.

An eerie yawp echoes through the distant trees.

Not distant enough. I bolt upright and scamper around the pit with the blanket flying behind me, to where Gale lies on his back. He tucked an arm under his head for a pillow, and the other is draped across his chest. I throw myself down in the space between him and the coals, and curl up in a ball so that every bit of me fits under the blanket. I shiver from nerves until my sides ache and I'm too drained to do anything but sleep.

…

Chill air brushes the side of my face, but my other cheek presses against something very warm. And breathing. Slowly, very slowly, I wake up lying on my side.

At first I only notice the grey tinge in the sky as dawn approaches. But then the cozy mattress I've sidled up to takes a deep breath and I realize that my arm is wrapped around a grey cotton-clad torso. A large, scarred hand clasps my forearm. I swallow as reality descends and a glance down reveals that my leg is hooked over Gale's. The part of the blanket that once covered my legs now puddles on the ground behind my knees.

I close my eyes and try to keep them that way. But my heart rate won't allow for sleep, and it's no use pretending because without a doubt, my accidental snuggle buddy can feel it hammering against his ribs.

So I do something scarier than wait for an animal to eat me – I look up until my eyes meet his dark grey pair.

Gale watches me with confusion, and maybe something else, written all over his face. My stomach dissolves. I feel certain that he wanted to wake up with me half on top of him just as much as I wanted that animal sniffing around me earlier.

"I'm so sorry!" I cry, feeling completely shaken. It's not every day that I wake up spooning with Gale Hawthorne. I sit up, but he's still holding my arm so that I can't scoot away. My hand splays across his chest while I try to balance.

"S'okay," he whispers, still staring intently. "Just surprised me, is all."

I untangle our legs and feel a flush burn from the top of my ears all the way down my neck. Maybe lower. We're talking intense embarrassment. "I don't normally…I didn't mean to…"

Gale lets go of my arm. "It's okay, Madge. Relax."

"I'm sorry for waking you up and bothering you…an animal woke me up and I panicked and…" I point behind me, where I first fell asleep.

"You don't bother me," Gale somberly interrupts.

I pause. "I—I don't?"

"No," he replies.

"I'll move back," I offer.

"Don't," he says. My lips part in a silent _what?_ "If you're scared, then stay."

I blink. "You won't mind?"

Gale shakes his head. "No."

"Why not?" I don't know why I'm asking…but suddenly I want to know.

A muscle jumps in Gale's cheek while he thinks. Then he rises up, resting on an elbow. His other arm reaches out for mine and he pulls me down toward him till my lips cover his.

"Huhm," which means _hang on a minute_. But it's lost somewhere between his mouth and mine. Gale moves his lips in a gentle rhythm and all other words fall away. He caresses the fullest part of my lower lip, then leaves a light kiss on the corner of my mouth. I clutch his sleeve and lean into him, feeling like I've found a patch of my own sunlight.

Gale lets me go, leaning back and leaving a chill in his place. I stay clutching his arms to keep from falling forward. "That's why," he says. Gale's eyes soften as he scans my face. "I'm in love with you."

Whoa. My head snaps back. I replay that sentence in my head over and over before it sinks in.

"You are?" I gasp. "But you never said."

"It's true." Gale's head tilts to the side. "And you never said you were the one who brought the morphling that winter years ago. So I guess we're both finding out new things about one another." Gale smirks.

"I'll say!" I cry, feeling broadsided and a little tipsy. He laughs at me. "How did you find out about the morphling?" I demand.

He nods his head toward the pines. "Katniss. Three years ago, before the plans to rescue Peeta were finalized. I asked her what she felt for him."

"And somehow that came around to the night Thread whipped you?" I frown.

Gale sits up all the way. "Well, then Katniss asked me about you. She wanted to know why you'd run through a snow storm to deliver morphling to me. Like we had some secret dealings she didn't know about. I told her I didn't know you had. Or why." He looks at his hands. "I guess I still don't."

I swallow, feeling embarrassed for a gesture I made years ago. Since we weren't really friends then. "I did it because I cared about you." The words sounds so trite considering that he just declared himself. "The truth is that I love you, too. I always have." I'm blushing so badly I can feel it down in my toes. "But if you'd known for the last three years, why didn't _you _say something before now? Why didn't you tell me that you felt the same the moment you knew?" My eyelids droop. "When _did_ you realize?"

Gale scratches his head. "It happened gradually, I guess, as I found out more about you. Little things at first, like when you'd come over to sit with Mrs. Everdeen and Prim during the Quarter Quell and the kindness you showed Posy by giving her free piano lessons. And also the painkiller, even though I didn't know about if for a long time. And in big ways, like how you held together during the firebombing and afterward when put your life back together."

He means without my parents and I feel tears prick the back of my eyes thinking about them. But I bite my lip and make myself sit up straight.

Gale takes my hand and draws circles on the back of it with his thumb. "I almost did tell you…a few times when you'd come over to see my mom. But I enlisted in a war, Madge. Not exactly the best time to ask a girl out."

"Still," I reply tersely. "Anything could've happened. You might have _died_ and I would have never known the truth. Or I could have…" I remember the fantasizing I did over Quintus and feel my stomach drop "…could have married someone in the meantime!"

He falters somewhat. "Maybe." Then he says, "You're only twenty, though. Who were you going to get hitched to?"

I continue, feeling rather put out. "You honestly believed I'd mope after you for a couple of years?"

His eyes widened. "Was I wrong?"

I think about it for a moment, and know that he wasn't wrong at all. I did mope around for three years, but I still don't like him assuming. I gasp, "I have a date with Quintus," then cover my mouth with my hand.

"Yes, about that," Gale says with a sharp edge in his voice. "I have a feeling you're going to miss it."

"I already told him yes to the date," I say, though my motive was to get him to leave. "It can be rescheduled, I suppose."

Gale grips my chin. "Not that one."

"Possessive, much? I mean, you said you loved me, but you haven't actually asked me out…" Then a chill runs down my spine as something clicks into place from my first conversation with Peeta about The Plan. "Oh no. Peeta said…you don't have cabin fever, do you?"

"Well, maybe a little," Gale replies. "I've always felt that the Underground is more of a glorified sewer—"

I bunch my fists. "Peeta lied to me. He never mentioned bringing you, and I seriously suspect that he had ulterior motives!"

Gale laughs long and hard. "He's good at that, if you haven't notice."

"But I thought…"

"I'm sure you thought whatever he meant you to think," Gale quips. "It's not like he was square with me, either, if that helps."

"So, Katniss and Peeta know that you ...and me….?" I ask, swirling my finger between us. Gale nods. "I'm the only one who wasn't in the loop? I had no idea, what's with the _ugh, I'll fly. Madge, you don't know what you're doing. I'm going to die_ crap!"

Gale's heavy eyebrows arch in condescension. "For the record, we did almost die."

Now I arch my brow.

A slow, self-deprecating grin spreads over his face. "Okay, and also between Peeta and Quintus I felt pretty pissed. And you were so feisty about having your own way, that you made yourself an easy target for ribbing. I do prefer that to the girl who doesn't say a word when I'm rude to her."

I gaze at him through hooded eyes. "You say that now, but wait a few years."

"Years, hm?" His lips twist into a wry smile.

I blink, thinking about the implication of what I meant to be a throw-away statement. Especially since he _still_ hasn't asked me out. "Look, I'm concussed," I mutter, rubbing my temples, though the ache has dulled down quite a bit. "I can't be held responsible for anything I say."

Gale kisses my nose, then pulls me down with him. "Well, I'm not concussed, and years sound like a good amount of time to me."

We share the blanket this time.

* * *

TBC

_Wow. Three cheers for obvious innuendos. If you found it (or them), you get to keep one of Peeta's spare legs. Signed. May the odds be ever in your favor and thanks for reading! _

_The accidental cuddle inspiration was brought to you by Geeky_DMHG_Fan. Alas, there were no closets in the wilderness. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Penelope:** Thanks for reviewing! This story is written entirely for shits and giggles and to explore the characters, who have hopefully experienced some personal growth since the end of _Catching Fire_. Sorry if you didn't think the characters are true to their natures and that the premise is lame. I suppose it is lame, but humor often builds off of absurd situations. I do my best. If you think the execution was poor, then there isn't much I can say. If it's a matter of interpretation of character development, then we'll simply have to disagree. (FYI, if you didn't care for the earlier chapters – you'll hate this one. Though, I assume the story no longer holds any interest for you.)

However, I fail to see how _The Hunger Games _series doesn't concentrate on love. As far as I can tell, the whole story is about love. The action makes it move, but love is the motivation that gives it meaning: From Katniss choosing to volunteer in Prim's place, to her refusal to let Peeta die for her in the Third Quarter Quell, plus all the sacrifices that many characters make in between (Madge, Darius, Cinna, Mags, etc). And love is what separates Katniss and others from the amoral, inhuman, blood-thirsty Career tributes and Capitol crowd who crave the "action" without a thought for ethics. In short, love is the only thing that makes the characters human or keeps the tributes, like Katniss and Peeta, from being just "a piece in their games;" to die, but in their own idiom. To focus on the action is to miss Suzanne Collins' message entirely. That we are human, and what keeps us human, as opposed to savage beasts, is the care we have for our fellows.

I simply gave a few of the characters the space to breathe and explore thoughts and feelings that SC has already but into play. And to be fair, SC put a heck of a lot more smoopy kissing scenes in her books than I've put into the fanfiction. ;)

Sorry, I suppose that turned into a defense of my corpus at large.

**Shameless plug: **Maiasm of DA made a neato picture from Redux Ch. 3. Check out the awesomeness! http://maiasm(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/And-So-We-Run-Redux-158461294

_Many thanks to Ceylon205 for beta!

* * *

_

**Chapter 7**

"I think we ought to live happily ever after…It should be hair-raising." _Howl's Moving Castle_ by Diana Wynn Jones.

…

_And to conclude – Peeta! _

I wake up, not for the first time, to Katniss's hair tickling my nose. I turn my head in time to avoid sneezing on her. She sleeps like a rock and doesn't notice our bodies jolt. She's resting in her usual position with her head over my heart, one leg thrown over mine. On this side I don't have to worry about losing the circulation in my leg. Well, my shoulder and arm are another story, but I won't complain.

Shifting onto my left hip, I pull out a small notebook from my right back pocket. Sliding out the gray pastel from inside the wire spiral, I flip a few pages and add a tally, marking yet another nightmare-free night for both of us.

I blow the coal dust off and put the notebook away. I allow myself a deep breath of satisfaction and grin at the towering pines backlit by the pink and orange hibiscus dawn overhead. Below the gorgeous display, large ferns fan out around Katniss like screens. Not too shabby.

And it means there won't be any cameras around for what I intend to do next. The way I wanted it to be. For real.

We lay like this a while longer, Katniss oblivious to everything, me listening to her even breathing, feeling her chest rise and fall in time with mine. My thumb draws invisible lines up and down her spine. This feel _right_. Just us, away from all the bustle in the Underground, and the demands of the rebellion. We're like normal people, and not for the last time, I wish we could freeze this moment.

Eventually anticipation gets the better of me. I kiss her forehead and murmur her name. She snorts in her sleep, burrowing closer to me. Decidedly asleep.

"Katniss," I mock whisper in her ear. "I asked Finnick if I could use his net costume."

Katniss stirs, wrinkling her nose when her cheek hits the wet spot where she drooled on my shirt. "Ugh," she moans. She looks up at me through bleary eyes. "Wha?"

"Mornin'," I say.

"Hrmfff."

"You utter piercing eloquence." When she glares at me, I quip, "You never did suffer teasing with grace."

Katniss sits up, stretches, and gets her fingers stuck in the haystack on top of her head. "What happened to my braid?"

I pull her hair tie out of my pocket and twirl it around my index finger.

She frowns in consternation. "Oh."

"You only let your hair down when you're unconscious or incredibly…distracted." I shrug, putting her hair tie back in my pocket before she tries to get it back. "By me, of course."

"Which was it then?" she asks, masking a teasing smirk with a yawn. "I don't remember."

"Incredibly distracted. I could give you a recap…"

Katniss laughs, pushes me away, and then licks her chapped lips. "Speaking of, I'm distractingly thirsty. We should probably head back to the hovercraft and find out if the others are still alive and if they've found a water source." She stands up, helping me to my feet and starts brushing off pine needles. We tackle the debris on the blanket together, then she folds it up.

While her back is to me, putting everything else back into the pack, I rummage in my pocket. _Seems like I've got everything in here today, _I muse, making sure my quarry is still there.

I clear my throat. "Before we meet up with Madge and Gale I wanted to clear something up." I announce, slowly dropping onto my knees just as Katniss turns toward me.

Katniss's eyes pop. The backpack falls to the ground. She lurches forward, throwing herself down on her knees front of me. "Peeta!" she cries, her hands thrust out in front of her like she doesn't know where to touch me. "What's wrong?"

"Relax, Katniss." I laugh softly, taking her hands in mine. "I'm fine."

She takes a deep breath, then she looks sheepish. "Sorry. Knee jerk reaction. For a second I thought you were dying on me again."

"Not this time," I say. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something."

Katniss looks confused. "On your knees?"

I grin and shake my head slightly. Not for the first time. "Katniss, any other girl would've been on to me already."

"What?" she asks defensively.

I laugh, a little nervously. "I'm on my knees, humbling myself before you – which is frankly terrifying – because I am asking you to marry me." Katniss's mouth drops open and a sound comes out of her throat, but I gently press a finger against her lips and continue, "For real this time. Not for the cameras or the Capitol or the Rebellion or Haymitch or the thousands of other reasons we've had to consider in the past. I love you." I glance down at our hands, remembering _every_ time I've said those words to her – and the varying successes and failures of those confessions. I have a hard time looking up again, but I manage. Her grey eyes are wide and fixed on me as though we'd never done this before. "I want to be with you only for the reason that I love you and you love me too."

She looks a bit stunned, so I keep talking. "I know that traditionally you haven't been very fond of the marriage and kids idea but without the risks we faced in Twelve, I figured maybe you'd change your mind. I want to be with you always." I grin. "Not to mention that your mom would finally relax."

"Peeta?"

"Oh, and I should give you this." I hold up the ring after digging it out of my pocket. It's the pearl I gave her set in gold filigree leaves I designed from pictures in their family book. In light of yesterday's conversation, I'm pleased to say they aren't depicted after some vegetable in disguise.

Katniss takes one look at the ring and her face crumples, causing my heart to drop into my stomach. Bowing her head, she begins sobbing quietly against my chest. And I've probably seen Katniss cry more than anyone else, but it's still a weird sensation.

I wrap my arms around her, resting my cheek against her head. "Is it something I did?"

She gives a hiccupping sort of laugh. "Yes."

"Sorry. And your mom's fine and –"

"Don't apologize, you idiot. It's my fault." She lifts her head and sniffles. I wipe a few stray tears away. "You're perfect, and I love you."

"Then what is it?" I ask, feeling completely confused. Something I did, but it's not my fault? My fingers twiddle with the ring, and I wonder if maybe she doesn't like it after all? "You don't like the ring?"

Katniss sighs, taking the ring and studying it. "This is beautiful craftsmanship. It's just that the pearl was all I had of you for a long time. While you were…gone," she shudders, "I spent most of my time thinking about our first year as tributes and victors, of the awful mess I made."

I frown, wondering why she's rehashing all of this. "Katniss, it's okay."

She shakes her head. "No it isn't. I hurt you and I hurt Gale. Before I give you an answer, I need to know that you've forgiven me for that."

This gives me pause, because I always figured that she knew where we stood with that. We've been together for two years now. I didn't suffer in the Capitol so that when Mockingjay forces rescued me I could hold a grudge. And all I've ever wanted is to be with her, I won't let something that happened in our _teens_ muck up our relationship now.

So, I tell her, "You know I'm over it, if there's anything to forgive. Katniss, I don't blame you for feeling confused. We were both young, and the whole situation wasn't fair to you. We were desperate, manipulated..."

Katniss interrupts me, shaking her head. "Stop brushing this off, Peeta. I need you to forgive me because I don't want to marry you unless there's no doubt that all the uncertainty is behind us. That it's gone."

I shrug. "No big deal, I forgive you."

She bites the inside of her cheek, struggling to say what she's thinking. "I'm not the most observant girl in the world – especially when it comes to people – but I know you now. And you say that everything's forgiven, it's not a big deal. But you still operate like maybe you aren't even sure that the past is in the past." She cups my face in her hands, searching my eyes. "You never have to measure up to Gale, do you got that?"

Now my jaw drops as her words expose a scab that's been very slow to heal. One that I've only been partially aware of. And she's right, amazingly. I can easily forgive her for loving Gale once, but not feeling like I must replace Gale…ouch.

"I want you. Not Gale. Not a golem fashioned after him." Her hand gently smoothes my cheek before she gives me a light kiss. "Do you understand?"

I nod mutely, feeling overwhelmed, both by the wound and the freedom from it.

"Then yes, I will marry you, Peeta." She smiles one of those rare, rooftop smiles. The kind that's happy and at peace. "I love you."

My heart squeezes so tightly it hurts. I take the ring and she lets me place it on her finger. Then my hands slip around her waist, drawing her toward myself. Her hands rest on my shoulders, and she doesn't wait for me. Her lips brush over mine, then press firmly against my mouth. I rock back on my heels, pulling her onto my lap, and the kiss deepens until I taste her completely. Wholesome as clover and sweet like honey. Her hands caress upward to my neck, entwining in my hair, holding me closer. I respond with a hungry sound deep in my throat and feel her answering smile. I tease her lips gently with my teeth and she shivers as my hands mold around her hips.

And stay there. With great reluctance I place one last kiss on the corner of Katniss's mouth. She exhales with the same resigned frustration that I feel. Her lips are swollen and her eyelids heavy. The loveliest shade of pink covers her cheeks, bright beneath her dark eyes. Beautiful.

"What is it?" Katniss asks, her voice hoarse.

"I regret telling Haymitch about our great escape. Now he'll know to come after us. I could get used to having you to myself."

Katniss's ears pick up on one thing only. "You told _Haymitch_?" Her voice rises a few decibels and she slips off my lap. "Peeta! What about Madge? She'll be in so much trouble."

I shake my head. "Katniss, she'd be in trouble if we really _did_ steal the hovercraft." I wouldn't have said anything if I thought it'd make things worse for her.

"Why didn't you tell Madge any of this?" Katniss demands.

"I didn't think it'd hurt to let her believe she'd really pulled off a heist." I scratch my head. "The hovercraft wasn't supposed to break down, though."

"Peeta," she huffs, our beautiful moment forgotten. For now. "Come one, we'd better head back."

…

We find Madge and Gale not too far from the hovercraft. Katniss stops short at the sight of them spooning beneath the blanket and gapes. It makes me chuckle.

"I knew the blanket situation would work itself out," I say, giving her a smug grin. "Despite a few setbacks, you have to admit that my plan worked. Once again."

I step around Katniss, who's still openly staring, and start building up the fire. Gale left a pile of kindling nearby and I feed it into the coals till there's a blaze. The sleepers haven't stirred a muscle and I wonder when they actually fell asleep.

Katniss plunks down next to me. The backpack drops on the ground and I unzip it, pulling out the cookies. She watches as I grab another stick and skewer a cookie and toast it over the fire.

"Wish we had milk," I say.

She ignores me, and says, "It's weird."

"What is? Toasting cookies?" I admit I've never done it before, but I kind of want something warm for breakfast. And our bread is lying in a bush somewhere along with all our other supplies.

She gestures toward Madge and Gale. "Them. Together."

"No, it's not." I tap my chin, thinking. "Effie and Haymitch would be weird."

She snorts. "You think?"

"However," I continue. "_Weird_ suggests the unexpected or unusual. I know for a fact that Madge has been mooning over Gale since we were at least sixteen. Gale I wasn't so sure about until recently. All in all, they just needed a little help." Katniss gives me a _how do you know?_ look. "When a girl runs through the snow…"

"You two shouldn't talk about us like we aren't here," Gale murmurs groggily.

Katniss and I shut up, casting surprised glances across the fire. I just barely save the cookie from falling into the ashes and hand it to Katniss. The frosting drips, but she doesn't notice.

"Sorry," I say, unable to think of anything else appropriate.

Gale's eyes are still closed but his lips thin into a smirk, half concealed behind Madge's hair. Her back leans against his chest, resting her head on her arm. Oblivious and asleep.

"So, returned from your tryst?" he whispers.

Katniss splutters over the term. "We were perfectly _innocent_."

"Ah." Gale's eyes sliver open, focusing on me. "But were you successful?"

Uh, I'm not really sure what he means by that since I never told him anything, so I just nod. "Sure."

"Alright then."

Katniss rounds on me. "Did Gale know about this?" She waves her left hand in the air.

"Nope," we both reply.

Her brows furrow with suspicion and disbelief. "Then how did you guess we were engaged?"

"Obvious." Gale squints at the ring. "Well, actually, I didn't know you were engaged, per se, but I figured Peeta went through all this fuss to corner you for a reason. I wanted to know if all this hassle worked out in his favor. I guess it did."

"Worked out in your favor, too," I tell him.

His eyes close again like he's going back to sleep and he tucks Madge a little closer. "Yeah."

Well, I guess that's that, then. I start toasting myself a cookie but Katniss elbows me hard in the ribs. God, she's bony. "What was that for?"

"I need water," she says. "Why don't we go find some?"

"Okay."

I get up, then stand there stupidly. Uh. Where to start?

"Go southwest for a quarter of a mile," Gale mumbles against Madge's neck.

"Thanks," Katniss grumbles uncomfortably, stalking off in that direction. I catch up with her and thread my fingers through hers. We walk for a ways without speaking. I play with the ring, twisting it around and around on her finger. It reminds me that something ugly and painful, like a grain of sand and an oyster, can make something beautiful.

"So…weddings, huh?" I say, my thoughts returning to earlier in the morning.

Katniss stops. "What?"

"I thought when we get back we should just hit up the judge," I say, pulling her along.

"Right away?" she gasps.

"Well, yeah." I shrug, skimming my fingers over the soft part of her arm between her elbow and shoulder. One of her sweet spots. "How long did you want to wait?"

She retorts, despite the way my touch makes her shiver, "Long enough to take a shower."

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. "That long? 'Cause, really, that's a long time to wait," I tease.

"You'll live." Then she smirks and walks on. "Although, who knows when Haymitch will get his act together and send a rescue party? It could be months."

I give her a penetrating look, though it's wasted on the back of her head. "It anyone other than you was stranded out here, I'd worry about how long Haymitch would drag this out. But he's not going to leave his little Mockingjay in the woods for very long."

Katniss stops short again and groans. "What's the matter?" I ask.

Her shoulders bunch in dread. "You just reminded me that everyone will finally get their big, fancy wedding."

"It doesn't have to be that way," I try to soothe. "We can have a private ceremony if that's what you want."

"Oh, come on, Peeta." Her grey eyes flash on me. "Do you think for a moment that anyone will let us get married without making it a big deal? I wish it really could just be you and me and the judge." She starts walking again and I follow behind.

"Yeah." I'll have to think on that.

It isn't long before a line of thick, green undergrowth appears, heralding water. Katniss says she can smell it. I just nod my head, because everything smells the same to me, and follow her beeline through the thicket.

We take our shoes off and stand in the shallows. The water feels cool on my clammy foot, which has been in a boot for too long. Although the creek runs clear, I have to be mindful of my prosthetic over the silt and stones. Eventually I crouch down and swill the muddy water around, then start spreading mud over the big toe of my real foot till it resembles the rocks scattered over the riverbed. Habit.

I can see Katniss's wavering reflection watching me. Her hands perch on her hips. She kind of looks like her mom when she does that, but I've never told her as I value my life. That is, I'll gladly die for her, but letting her kill me seems like a waste. "If I can't find you after you've painted yourself into the riverbank, I'm not sure I can convince the others to stay and wait for you to tire from your game."

"You'll find me. You always do," I say seriously. Then add with a grin, "Madge would stay, which pretty much leaves Gale no alternative."

She half-smiles, half-cringes. "I've never seen him like that over a girl before."

That's news to me. "Not even over you?"

She bends down next to me, rinsing her arms and hands. "Well, when he liked me, I wasn't really picking up on his signals, remember?"

"Point." She didn't pick up on anyone's signals. Not even the ones broadcast to her over dozens of large screens surrounding the Training Center.

Katniss cups the water in her hands and pours it over her face. It runs down in beads from her forehead down to her throat, catching the sunlight. It twinkles off of her smooth, olive skin. I'd offer her my shirt to dry off with, but I know she'll just use her own. Instead, I scoop some water into my mouth and drink till the dryness dissipates. It tastes good, but drinking from the stream brings back bad memories. I probably should have thought of that before asking Madge to fly us out into the wilderness. Katniss doesn't appear to be bothered. I guess her memories go back farther to happier times in different woods.

So, I turn my thoughts to something else that tastes good. Or someone, rather. I reach for Katniss's arm, but lose my balance when the sand shifts under my false leg. I knock into her, sending her sprawling from where she balanced on the balls of her feet. The water splashes around us and she cries out.

"Whoops."

When I've wiped the water out of my eyes, I see that I'm on my hands and knees over Katniss, while she glares at me. She's up to her waist in water and a reed lodged itself in her hair. I pick it out and give her an apologetic grin.

"Sorry. Faulty equipment." I apologize for my non-foot. Her lips twitch as she struggles to suppress an embarrassed, blushing grin. "That's not what I meant," I add hastily, but she's already silently laughing at me, shoulders shaking. I revenge myself by plunking a wet, open mouth kiss on her cheek. "You've been hanging out with Johanna again." The victor from Seven has a one-track mind, I found out, and has even been known to make Finnick blush.

Katniss rolls her eyes, swiping at her cheek. "Ugh. Not willingly."

"I figured." I get back on my feet and help her out of the creek.

"We should head back," she says as she wrings the moisture out of her clothes.

"I guess." Though I'm not in any hurry.

"I'd like to dry off by the fire," she tells me, but then she sticks out her tongue at something. "I lied. I really want to know what Madge and Gale are up to."

"Are you sure?" I smirk. Other couples make her squeamish. Well, mostly around their appreciative displays of one another. We don't spend time with the Odairs much these days.

"Yes, I'm sure." Her grey eyes light with mischief. "Gale deserves to be teased after all the ribbing he gave us at first."

Ribbing? He practically flayed us with his wit. I still hear him caricaturing sometimes when I kiss Katniss.

The trek back to camp seems shorter and before we know it, we're within eyesight. Katniss pulls to an abrupt stop and I walk into her. "Whoa," she says.

Our companions still lie on the ground about fifty feet away, but the blanket's heaped over to the side, forgotten and in danger of catching fire. Gale leans over Madge, supporting himself on one arm while he cradles her head with other. It looks like he's trying to eat her lips. Judging by the way she's tugging his shirt, anchoring him down, she's not opposed to a life with no lips. I guess I can't blame her. From a purely objective male point of view, Gale is a stud. Even if he does behave like an ass sometimes.

Gale must sense that they're being watched because he leans off of Madge and looks around. His eyes lock on us and widen with surprise.

"I guess they got carried away," I mutter in Katniss's ear.

He whispers something in Madge's ear and then sits up all the way, pulling her with him. She glances sheepishly at us over her shoulder, without meeting our eyes.

"Wow, you can see her ears glow," Katniss replies.

"Yep." It's that pale merchant skin always giving us away.

Madge busies herself with pulling pine needles off her clothes, when we approach. Gale's sipping out of a water bottle. Nice of him not to mention that they had those.

"Good morning," I say with verve worthy of Effie.

"Morning…" Madge murmurs, glancing up briefly. Then she gasps. "What's that?"

Katniss blinks at her. "What?"

"That ring!" She points to Katniss's left hand. "Are you two engaged?"

Gale mutters _weird_ while I reflect on how quickly Madge noticed. Like she has some kind of radar.

"When did that happen?" she demands.

"This morning," we reply.

Gale and I are quickly cut out of the conversation. It's clear by Madge's intense gaze on Katniss that we have nothing interesting to say.

"How did he do it? What did he say?" she demands.

"Um…" Katniss's mouth works for a moment before she gives up. Her lips twitch and I know that there's no way she can bring herself to repeat all that sappy stuff in front of our friends.

Madge signs, not waiting for the information. "And you said _yes_."

"Yeah."

"When's the date? Will you have a traditional Twelve wedding? Are you going to ask Haymitch to give you away?"

"I don't know!" Katniss cries, hitting overload.

"You should ask Haymitch just to pull his leg. I can play the wedding song on the piano for you."

Gale gives me a commiserating glance, _why are we listening to this?_

He gets up and gestures toward the hovercraft when Madge starts discussing wedding dresses and I follow. Funny, Madge didn't strike me as the type of girl to wax eloquent on the subject. I guess weddings bring that out in some people.

Just not Katniss. She's turning green. Hopefully this engagement is still on when the conversation is over.

Gale stands by old Ethel's nose. He picks up a wrench off the ground and tosses it into the toolbox.

"What?" I ask him.

He leans against the nose, crossing is arms. His somber eyes appraise me, so I fold my arms, too. "If you hurt Katniss, she'll flay you alive. Just saying."

"Thanks," I say with a grim smile. If anyone's in a position to hurt anyone…it's usually not me.

"No problem." Oblivious to my sardonic tone, Gale starts toward the hatch, crunching over broken glass from yesterday.

I add, "If you hurt Madge, she'll dump you for Quintus McFarlane."

Gale stops, grits his teeth. "I hate that guy."

"Making it an apt revenge," I say with a much sunnier smile.

He mutters, "She won't need to revenge herself."

"And I don't intend to get flayed."

"Good." Thus ends our verbal kick in the balls. "So. How long are we stuck out here?" he asks from inside the cabin.

I think about it a moment. "They aren't going to miss us until this afternoon, at least."

His head pokes out. "And what then? Will they connect our disappearance to the confiscated hovercraft? And will they know where to look?"

I lean against the hatch opening. "Haymitch knows everything about Ethel and our destination." Gale's eyes widen with surprise. "I told him beforehand. When we're late, he'll put two and two together."

"Will he?" Gale asks sharply.

"He's a quick one. Even when he isn't sober," I say in Haymitch's defense.

Gale huffs. "How much trouble are we in?"

I'm guessing he's really wondering how much trouble Madge will be in, after forging Haymitch's signature, plus conspiring and succeeding in flying a stolen aircraft out of the Underground. "She'll be all right."

He doesn't miss a beat. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Haymitch was…amused." Gale accepts this and heads back to the fire. Madge offers him a cookie and they share a bottle of water. I still think he's a jerk for not telling us he had it. But then, he wouldn't be Gale if he had, would he?

I settle down next to Katniss, who looks thoroughly frazzled but still engaged, and play with the hair falling over her shoulder while she splits a fruit snack with me.

"Well, what do we do now?" she asks.

"I guess we wait."

* * *

**The End!**

_Thanks for reading! _

(Okay. Maybe an epilogue…)


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: **LOL! So, everyone seems to think that _The Great Escape_ is short. Well, it was supposed to be a one-shot. And then it was only supposed to four chapters, and then…. You see how it ran away with me. But you're right, the story could be twice as long. Alas. My other story is sitting by, sadly neglected. So, I hope you'll accept the Epilogue as a paltry attempt to appease you.

JK. The truth is that I'm a monster and this section was hacked off the original chapter 7 just to tease you. ;)

* * *

**Epilogue**

_Peeta!_

We're all looking a little worse for wear when lunchtime rolls around on the _second_ day. We've stayed anchored to the crash site in hopes that rescue would be swift. It has not. At least not as swift as four hungry men and women hoped. We haven't even found a use for the knife yet.

Sure, we've all been in less dire straits. Katniss and I, in the Games. Or me in the Capitol. Gale and Madge had to run for their lives or burn. For some reason, hardship always feels worse when it's not all that dire. The degree of desperation must have some effect on one's attitude, because even my spirits are not as good as they could be. And it's not like we're going to die out here in this coniferous jungle.

I hate cookies (never thought I'd say it, but it's true). Madge hates me, because Gale told her that I told Haymitch. Gale and Katniss hate everyone. But that's to be expected. After a wave of sugar-induced stomach aches, Gale tried to convince Katniss and Madge to relinquish their bras for a snare kit he wanted to put together. That went over well. Not. We'll be eating cookies for a while. Although, the swelling in Gale's lip will have to go down before he eats _anything_.

The birds shut up all of a sudden, saving us from boiling pine needles in a liquor bottle. Katniss exhales in relief seconds before the telltale warning trill of a mockingjay. She points up as a hovercraft materializes.

I'm about to reflect on the suspicious lack of mockingjays up until this point, when Madge groans.

"Oh…boy," she says with a cringe.

Gale looks down at her with concern. "What is it?"

She grimaces again and points to the Mockingjay symbol and the inscription on the tail. "That's a Besra-77."

We all look up again. The tops of the trees swirl as the sleek hovercraft descends, kicking up a wind. Our hair whips around our heads; I even get pummeled by the end of Katniss's braid, which she forced me to relinquish the hair tie for last night. But amidst all the commotion caused by the air current and bracken flying up in the air, we can see the symbol, the words, and something else.

"So?" Gale shrugs, the significance of the model lost on him.

"Is that thing called_ Hobgoblin_?" I ask, squinting at the bold, sans-serif inscription.

"Yeah," Madge replies weakly. She squirms.

"What's that painted on the side?" Katniss asks.

"Um…it's called a pin up…boy."

This takes a moment for us to process.

"Wait a minute – it's the Capitol tool's hovercraft, isn't it?" Gale demands.

"Maybe." Madge chokes.

"It has green hair…did Quintus put a picture of himself on his own hovercraft?" I ask. Because that's a little weird. Even for a former Capitol citizen. Still, this should be interesting – a showdown between Madge's two suitors.

Madge _ums_ and _uhs_, hedging the question. Gale starts muttering under his breath and cracking his knuckles. I try not to grin, but Katniss elbows my ribs and my resolve shatters. Laughter hisses through our noses and we receive dark looks from the angsty backwoodsman.

We get out of the way as the Besra-77 lands in the strip of woods cleared by Ethel's hasty descent. The hatch lifts like a falcon gracefully spreading its wings to warm in the sun. The spectacle makes the Peregrin-61 look a little frumpy.

And Quintus makes all of us look very frumpy. He jumps down from his perch in the pilot's seat, in a form-fitting uniform altered to non-regulation tightness. His polished black boots catch the sunlight and gleam like his ultra-white smile, which is perfectly replicated on pin-up-Quintus.

He folds his arms across his chest, looking the definition of ease. The threads of his garment actually creak against his toned upper bod. "Hello, Madge," he purrs. Gale chokes on something - probably his own jealousy - and starts coughing, while Katniss gives me a questioning look. _What are we, chopped liver?_ I nudge her as a reminder to just enjoy the show.

The pilot's face creases in concern as the coughing fit continues. He points at Gale's back, which is turned toward us while he tries to control his hacking. "Oh dear. Is there something wrong with that fellow?"

"Hi, Q-Quintus," Madge replies, trying not to laugh. She reaches out to pat Gale between his shoulder blades. "He'll be fine." Gale turns his head to glare at her. So much for girlfriendly concern.

Quintus rocks back on his heels, dropping any pretense of caring one way or another for Gale's health. He looks downright pleased as he takes in Madge's appearance. "I can't tell you how delighted I am to see you, especially after you missed our date." He drawls in that affected Capitol accent.

I wonder if we should give the two of them some privacy, but come to the conclusion rather quickly that this is way to interesting to miss.

"Um, I think there may have been a change in plans," Madge tells Quintus. She blushes and bites her bottom lip. Her eyes bug with the effort of not laughing while Gale makes a strangled, growling sound in the back of his throat. He turns his slitted grey eyes on the pilot and Quintus notices Gale for what he truly is, for the first time. That is, a tall, tough guy with zero sense of humor unless it involves teasing crippled guys and their persnickety girlfriends. I would know. Quintus takes in Gale's close proximity to Madge and the calculated hunter look in those cold grey eyes, and I guess, like Haymitch, he's also pretty quick on the uptake, because he backs down. After he takes the liberty of winking at Madge. Gale turns purple.

"So I won't be able to convince you to share the pilot seat with me on the way back?"

Madge's hand slips into Gale's while she gives a quick shake of her head. Her shoulders shake while his eyes pop.  
When I look, I can see that Madge is squeezing his hand. Hard, judging by her white knuckles and the faint, purpley sausage look of his fingers.

"No?" Quintus's eyebrow – and the ring with it – quirk upward. But the Quinti still beam their dazzling smiles at us. "Such a pity." He smirks and turns a quarter-pivot on his heels to face Katniss and me, as though we just materialized in front of him.

Quintus takes a few strides forward and seizes Katniss's hand, giving it a fluid sort of shake. His fingers linger there and his thumb brushes over her skin. "You must be the Girl on Fire. Enchanted," he purrs, stroking his lower lip ring with his tongue. "I'm Quintus and I've wanted to make _your _acquaintance for so long."

Okay. That's not really funny.

Katniss scowls at him, but before I can go for the knife or Katniss can give him a tongue lashing, the Besra creaks ominously as Haymitch appears out the other side of the hatch. Nobody moves or says a word as he steps down. His hair's disheveled underneath a pair of aviator goggles and he's wearing an ill-fitting Mockingjay parka. Totally in character. He takes a look at Ethel, with her own hatches wide open, and a toolbox perched on the nose. Slack-jawed and mournful, he chokes up a little at the landing gear embedded in the ground and the torn cargo bin.

He rounds on us. "You four are so screwed."

* * *

**The end for realz. **

_Many thanks to Ceylon205 for beta and for asking for this story in the first place. _**  
**

**Shameless plug**: I'll be working on _And So We Run Redux_ again, so stay tuned!


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